Book 1: A Very Normal Year
by TaekwondoAssKicking
Summary: She couldn't believe it, but at the same time it made so much sense. She was a witch. And not only that, but everyone seems to be hiding something from her. Why do they treat her so coldly? Who is You-Know-Who? What the hell is a Hufflepuff? Growing up on the streets of London had taught her many things, and one of them is not to trust easily. Fem!Harry WBWL Mute Swearing Slytherin
1. Ch1 Good Morning to You

**Ch 1. Good Morning To You**

A girl of about ten years old yawned, her raven black hair messier than usual and sticking out at odd different angles. Her way-too-large dark grey T-shirt and baggy jeans with holes wet and soggy to the point of leaving a small river of water behind as she walked down 25 Tudor Street at 6:14 in the morning.

She shivered in the cool breeze. Though it was July, she felt cold after being exposed to a chilly shower all night. Well, more like a freezing shower with lightning and thunder to add up in the mix. She had spent all effing night having to dodge lightning bolts and ducking for cover in order not to turn into a fried sardine. She just couldn't believe that the roof of her temporary shelter decided to collapse _right in the godamn middle of a stupid storm! _And to make things worse, when the thing collapsed it did on top of her supplies! Never mind that it was inches away from her head, but now she had nothing to eat!

She kicked a random pebble in frustration; it had taken all day yesterday to get a hold of that food! Sure, she could go and rummage in the trashcan for some whenever no one was watching, but the food she had was a three days old loaf of bread that she traded in for a battery! A real luxury. And now it was gone.

She sighed.

_'Well, at least I managed to save my most precious possession' _she thought optimistically as she glanced down at the dirty black book-bag hanging across of her shoulder. It is very important to her, because in it she can carry everything vital for her survival: growing up in the streets of London was no picnic.

She had been living in the streets of London since her seventh birthday.

She accidentally got separated from her relatives when visiting London for god-knows-what and they didn't bother to go find her. Thank Russ for that. For her relatives, her sole purpose in life was to serve and be their slave. She was treated worse than dirt. Even the whole neighborhood was against her, swallowing her relatives' lies and being whispered behind her back everywhere she went by snobbish people who thought scruffyness ought to be punished by law. It was no wonder she had trust issues, specially when adults are concerned. Never did, and never will. Bad things always happens around adults, back then and right now.

You can meet rather twisted people around these parts.

She made a turn, entering Whitefriars Street. She stopped. Someone was there, in front of the London Bakery Shop and occupying half the street, his back to her.

She took a moment to study the individual. Early fifties, looked as if he had forgotten to shave this morning, broad shouldered, big frame, and wearing a clean blue apron with the bakery's logo stitched on it in a bright yellow. A baker? No, the apron was clean and his hands bore no burns or marks. Hands clenching and unclenching; a sign of either A) being anxious, or, B) anger. Cashier? Huh, yeah right. He wouldn't be able to afford such expensive clothes and jewelery with a low-paying salary. The owner, then. He had this air of power around him, as if used to being obeyed all the time... She could vaguely remember that the London Bakery Shop went bankrupt just last year, so does that mean it reopened? She spent this year wandering around more on the east side of London, so she really did not know.

She approached the man from behind as quietly as possible, and tried to get a good look at the gold Rolex watch strapped on his thick wrist. The alarm was on. In fact, it recently went off, about six minutes and twenty eight seconds ago. She took notice of the look of his clothes. His expensive shirt a bit disheveled, and one of the hems of his pants wrinkled up, showing a big part of his ankle.

Not only that, but he looked kinda familiar...

She searched inside her brain, looking through images, memories, and newspaper articles, matching faces and crimes, until finally she hit the jackpot:

Waldo Gentalucci, famous for shutting down small businesses and then usurping them. Doesn't like competition and got himself landed in prison for beating a poor soul up last year and had been released about a month ago. According to Hawk Vision, a feeble, old, homeless blind woman – who so happens to be a black belt in taekwondo – he also enjoys selling drugs and other illegal items at a ridiculously high price. This, of course, isn't known to the general public. Though blind and old, that might-be-crippled woman knows _everything _going on in her territory. What she lost in sight she made up in hearing.

Her brain observed and deducted all that information in one glance. People tended to forget that she was mute, not stupid. In fact, some would call her genius if they knew.

She wasn't _completely _sure that that Gentalucci was the man right in front of her at the very moment, it was just a guess, but she had this _feeling _that there was a reason that the guy was there.

A man looking as if waiting for someone... that street... owner of London_ Bakery _Shop...

Bakery. Furious owner. Fresh bread. Flooded street due to storm. Storm. Storm...?

Aw fuck.

She felt her muscles tense, then relax. She slowly retreated backwards, one step at the time.

A furious business owner ready for action and looking for something down the very street she had taken shelter in about a week ago? She felt like beating herself up with a stick.

Rule Number 3 of Surviving Shadow London: Don't ever settle down somewhere for more than five days.

Reasons being:

A) People tend to get violent towards the homeless. Specially snobby rich ones.

B) One word: Cops.

C) What's the use of stealing food if you end up dead in an alley?

D) People tend to put the blame on you for everything going missing even if you didn't do it.

This man was looking for _her. _

Better get out ASAP. She had her book-bag with her, so...

She inched closer to the shadows, careful not to give her position away.

"THERE YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE THIEF!"

Shit.

She wasted no time in making her escape. She sprinted through Whitefriars Street, and mentally cursed as she heard the rich dude pursuing her from behind.

"COME HERE, YOU THIEVING RAT!"

She rolled her eyes. Yup, she would just _love _to go straight to the guy who wanted to beat her up. Not a very smart idea, seeing as the guy has a reputation. Did she mention that the reason he landed himself in prison was for beating up some other thief half to death? Exactly.

She made two right turns, one left, and sprinted through Hutton Street without breaking a sweat. Never try to outrun her; it is a lost cause. She looked behind her and saw that he was still after her, sweat gleaming on the guy's forehead. She turned again around a corner in order to completely lose him.

Instead, she felt herself slamming against a sturdy body and fell on her butt. By instinct, she swept her right leg in order to trip this new annoyance, but failed when the body jumped. She did a quick follow-up by kicking to the knee, but again the body dodged, this time by taking a small step backwards.

"Really, you would have thought that I would know how to dodge your little kicks by now," said the body. She froze. She looked up from the ground, and recognized the person immediately.

Officer Hugo towered over her, giving her a victorious smirk.

"Why, good morning laddie. How is Scotland Yard's most annoying pain in the butt?"

She looked at Officer Hugo boredly. Internally, her brain was racing. Officer Hugo was a man in his mid-twenties that has chestnut colored hair, dark eyes, and a particular obsession of wanting to arrest her ever since she first avoided capture when she was eight. By throwing a balloon filled with neon pink paint. And a cat. A very _fat _cat. Let's just say he never got around the idea of a scrawny eight-year-old midget outwitting him. He won't stop until the day she is captured. Fat chance.

Officer Hugo grabbed her by the arm hard and brought the all-too-familiar handcuffs down, but at the last second she used the momentum that he oh so generously just gave her to push him out of balance and successfully freeing her hand by turning said hand to the side and away of the man's thumb. She lifted her left leg and Officer Hugo fell flat on his back.

She suddenly felt someone embrace her small body from behind, effectively locking both her arms from mobility as the unknown attacker lifted her up.

"Got'cha!" said the attacker. That voice sounded familiar...

"I had it under control!" Officer Hugo said disdainfully, getting back up. "No need to interrupt my work!"

"You're not the only one out to get this little laddie, you know!" The voice said.

Oh great. Just what she needed right now.

"Fuck off Detective Hudson," Officer Hugo snapped. She turned her head slightly to the side, and was greeted by Detective Hudson's kind face. She tried wiggling her body, but Detective Hudson just tightened his grip, due to... past experiences.

"Now, now, don't go off swearing in front of children," Hudson mock-chastised. She rolled her eyes at that. Seriously, she probably knew more swear words than them!

"Lay off, she's _my_ catch!" Hugo bit out. Between those two, she honestly had no idea which one wanted to capture her the most. Great.

"I believe," said someone else, "that _thing _should be handed over to me."

Oh, so now she was a 'thing.' Gee, can't they come up with something new?

Hudson turned to see who had spoken, and in turn allowed her to see who, since she was still trapped.

The rich business owner.

Oh for Russ' sake, she still hadn't eaten any breakfast yet! Though she usually didn't have any breakfast... but that's not the point.

"And _why _is that?" Officer Hugo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That thief stole from me! I demand you give the rat to me, or else!" the man threatened. She rolled her eyes. It was moments like these that she would love to retort a 'prove it' or a 'I didn't do it!' because frankly, she didn't. Not this time, anyway. She only stole during the winter or when she was desperate enough to do it. She didn't enjoy it, and she needed the money she earned doing odd jobs here and there during the summer to buy medicine for the winter.

Hugo narrowed his eyes at the rich-owner-who-probably-is-a-gangster of London Bakery Shop. "Or else, what?"

Those three words triggered the bomb.

The rich bakery owner shouted a battle cry and lunged at her and the detective. Hudson, startled, let go of her and she took the opportunity to glide out of the detective's reach. Hudson dodged last second and the stupid owner punched thin air. He turned around, and his eyes settled on her, but before covering much ground Officer Hugo executed a pretty darn good tackle and both fell to the ground, hard, like a brick left to gravity's mercy.

"Hey Hudson! Get laddie!" Hugo shouted as he tried to wrestle the squirming rich dude on the ground.

Hudson turned to where the ten-year-old mute whom they nicknamed 'laddie' stood about a minute ago, and was met with...

Hugo swore colorfully and Hudson sighed exasperatedly.

She was gone. Again.

"Hey, isn't this Waldo Gentalucci?"

* * *

**So, what'cha think? Like it? Hate it? Review! This is going to be a novel, and I will try to update weekly. I am also working on Naruto Undercover Ninja, and I am planning on finishing both. This story, is Her first year at Hogwarts and I have great plans for this story, even if it only gets one measly review. Why? Because I had SO much fun writing this :D ! Also, you will find that this is a rather original idea, and I promise that it will get really good. This is just the beginning, and I have lots of characters invented by moi. Like, three or six. Also, a little preview: she will be in the same year as the Weasley Twins!**

**Also: Did you guys notice... HA! If someone noticed something...peculiar...review and the first one to guess will get a cookie! :D  
**


	2. Ch2 Shadow London

**Ch 2. Shadow London  
**

She smirked rather smugly at the thought of having evaded capture once again by Detective Hudson and Officer Hugo aka The Most Shitty Officers of the Law. Well, ok, they _may _have improved a teensy tiny bit after almost three years of them running around like headless chickens all over London trying to find and capture her. Three years of history. Very, extremely, _long_ history.

Their relationship was a complicated one in which involved a lot of hate, banter, lots of 'hide and go seek', swearing, more hate, many threats, and amusing pranks from her end that ended up humiliating the two policeman to the point of being ridiculous. Hugo even went as far as calling her his 'archenemy.'

It was rather amusing.

Though there is all this hate going on, the two men somehow managed to grow on her. Of course, she would rather die and be eaten by the cockamouse – the result of a cockroach and a rat mating together, only seen by the Shadow Londoners – than ever admitting it out loud. Or on paper, for that matter.

But then again, what would happen if they _did _manage to capture her? Would she be forced to go back to her relatives? Back to living in a cupboard aka The Cupboard Under the Freakin' Stairs with hairy spiders as her roomates? Hell no. She was _not_ going back to that hellhole. Ever. _N__on in un milione di anni._

"Hey, that girl..."

"Where are her parents?"

"Stay away from her, looks like trouble..."

She blinked. Looking around she noticed that she was in the middle of a random slightly busy street.

_Huh, must've wandered out here while going down memory lane, _she mused. She made a few turns as so to get away from one of the main streets and into a dark alley, away from prying eyes and treacherous whispers. Really, people had been whispering behind her back ever since she was left at the bloody doorstep at her relatives' house at the tender age of three.

Making a left turn, two rights, and straight over to the next street and making another right, she casually strolled down a street busy enough to disappear and blend into the crowd without sticking out like an orange in a pile of freshly picked strawberries.

Rule Number 4 of Surviving Shadow London: Blend into your surroundings and adapt or be screwed.

She snorted at a memory of her sprinting down a street at impossibly high speeds one snowy winter morning with a fresh muffin under her shirt and being chased by six officers, two workers, a baker brandishing a frying pan, and the largest doberman she ever laid eyes upon when she was seven. It had been her first winter. The only thing she'd found to keep herself warm was a bright orange jacket, and lets just say it was plain dumb luck that she somehow ended up escaping that time. And the time after that. And the one after that. And then there was that time... well, you get the picture.

It was a long four months.

Her stomach made quiet, soft growls. Speaking of food, it was about time she had some!

She slipped through the crowd with practiced ease – all the while nicking a potato chip or two from unsuspecting victims – and stepped aside from the great sea of people and into the back alley of a prestigious small French restaurant.

In comparison to the cheerful busy street painted with colorful smudges called people, the alley she found herself in looked a bit dark and gloomy. The restaurant's back door stood out brightly, as it looked new and its deep brown wood shiny and smooth. The ginormous puke-green dumpster next to it looked foreign in comparison, but blended in the dark alley perfectly. There were some cracks on the side walls, dark-ish stone, and the air felt a bit chilly as she breathed it through her nostrils. Though she had to admit, she'd seen alleys that were far way more dark and gloomy than this one.

"-ight away, boss," the soft click of a doorknob turning. Blink. The brightly furnished door opened suddenly and harshly, a resounding SPLUNK! Resounding the area as said door hit the stone wall. A thin teenaged guy of about seventeen stood at the doorway, swinging a heavy-looking white garbage bag around.

"Do this waiter, do that waiter. I don't care I'm the new guy! Someday-" he kept grumbling and mumbling under his breath. He waddled up to the puke-green dumpster, complaining about 'the damn salsa-cook' and how he'd wish to strangle him with his 'damn origami figurettes'. He stopped in front of the dumpster, picked the bulging bag up, put it over his shoulder, and with some difficulty, he managed to push over the fat garbage bag into the dumpster. He grumbled and whined some more, and he _finally _returned to the job he loved so much.

He closed the door behind him with the same force as before, revealing the small ten-year-old's last-minute hiding place.

Behind a door. Classic!

She stood still, breath caught on her throat, concentrating on the muffled voices on the other side of the door. Once sure no one would come out and give her an unwanted surprise, she let herself breathe again. The only reason she was able to move that fast was because of years of practice and experience. Bloody good thing, too. Last time she was here, the owner had threatened her with mutilation, disembowlment, and used as soup ingredients. You know, the usual.

She even had a kitchen knife thrown at her that one time... but that might've been because she threw a bag of flour on one of the chef's head, covering the man from head to toe.

Did she mention that said flour had mixed in a fair amount of of itching powder?

It was _so_ worth it, the look on his face! Until he got ahold of the knife, that is. Then that look turned into one of those psychotic murdering maniac. Still worth it, though.

She glanced to the left and to the right, and cautiously made her way towards the dumpster.

Man, she was starving! Last time she ate was last night, due to the fact that one of the area's gangs were patrolling, _cough-_getting drunk-_cough_ around and she had decided to stay a long distance away. Like, River Thames long. Contrary to popular belief, she _did _have a sense of self-preservation, too. Well, most of the time. Ok, not _most _of the time. But she _did _have a sense of self-preservation! It was that it's in her nature to just go and _do it _when in an unplanned situation! That's just how she rolled.

She fixed her dulled eyes on the dumpster, her apathetic face and bored body language not letting anyone access her most inner thoughts.

_Fresh food! Hadn't had that in a while, _she couldn't help but think excitedly.

She swiftly climbed the gigantic dumpster – she had no problem, as she was a natural tree climber – only pausing momentarily as pain shot up her left arm. Her arm seemed to have gotten the full blow of the effing door. Stupid door. She was actually surprised at the guy's stupidity, as it didn't sound like a door hitting stone at all. She made a mental note to check out her arm later, and carefully balanced herself on the edge of the dumpster. Which proved to be a fatal mistake.

She felt her foot slip and her grip slide; gravity pulled her down and her stomach crawled momentarily with ants.

_Holy shi-_

She felt her head crash against a metal wall, making it vibrate with the impact, and her body land noisily on a pile of... well, she wasn't sure what, as she felt rather dazed at the moment. She felt something poke her stomach painfully and something slimy on her left leg. It also smelled rather _terrible_ in here_._

She groaned. Ouchie.

Blessed as she is with her mega observation skills and a power of deduction out of this world so like the famous Sherlock Holmes, she had failed to notice that it was bloody_ wet, _and therefore _slippery._

Really, she'd never ever in a thousand years figure out how the bloody hell she is able to practically outwitt half of Scotland Yard, dodge everything, and she meant _everything, _run like a cheetah, take all the challenges thrown at her and look at 'em in the eye, and _still somehow manage to slip or trip occasionally for no bloody good reason! _

A mystery she'd never be able to successfully solve. Ever. And she never gave up on a good mystery.

This annoyed her more that the time she had to endure Father John's eye-rolling scolding speech on the sins of lying and blah blah blah and something about apricots... Yeah, she kinda zoned out sometime during the speech and she has no idea where the apricots came from. Really, apricots! The guy's mental.

She blinked a few times and slowly moved to the side, deciding not to dwell too much on the unsolvable. She hit her head pretty hard and it hurt and felt a nasty headache coming, but she didn't feel any nausea, no fuzzy or blurry vision, she remembered what she was doing before falling face-first in here, and she _obviously_ had no trouble remembering and concentrating.

OK, no concussion then, so that's a good thing. Her arm looked a bit purple though, from being hit with a door. At least it hadn't smack-dabbed her in the face. She blinked again, feeling a bit disorientated. She uncaringly swatted the slimy thing away, pulled a banana peal out of her hair, and moved away from the uncomfortable object that had been rammed into her stomach moments before. It was an empty tomato sauce can that had broken through the plastic bag. She glared at it.

Deciding that glaring at an unanimated object was dumb and a waste of time, she thought that she might as well find something good to eat now that she was there, but before that...

She looked around the inside for it, but it probably was outside hidden out of view, on a close wall, or directly carved onto the dumpster itself. She frowned. She knew that the dumpster was 'labeled' as safe, and by her own hand, but her suspicious nature prevented her from ignoring it or completely discard Rules Number 7 and 8; two of the most important ones.

She cautiously stood up on the wobbly pile of cans, bottles, expired food – the good stuff – and prepared to push herself up and over the edge of the dumpster aka the free buffet box, but something unusual caught her eye. Something fat and furry.

That never was a good sign.

Frowning, she moved towards a small figure caught between _Jose's_ _Biscuits_ garbage bag (she could see bits of red dough, and she knew that they just recently added a red-looking biscuit to their menu) and the French restaurant's bag (it didn't reek like the others because it was fresher and smelled a bit of Alfredo Sauce). Her eyes swept the piles of junk, and settled on a stick. Perfect. She went towards it, grabbed it, and used it to move the bags away to take a better look at it.

It was as she suspected: a rat.

Yes, a rat. Rats could be found anywhere in the city and were annoying as hell. She sometimes had to compete with those animals for food, as they sometimes get there first and never leave a bloody crumb behind. They were also pretty darn dirty and contaminate the fresh water whenever they can. They were her and her fellow homeless beggar's neighbors. Rats infest the darker streets of London but their numbers usually declined during the winter. It wasn't uncommon to see a dead one here and there all-year 'round, but this was very unusual.

It was an extremely fat grey rat with an extremely long tail. Its eyes were open and lifeless, mouth hung wide open, tongue lolling out, and she could make out its yellow-ish small teeth. Its dirty paws with pointy dark nails were clinging onto one of the plastic bags, and blood tickled out of its nose.

She poked the dead rat with the stick. She cocked her head curiously, and used the stick to turn the rat belly facing up. She pressed the stick to its belly.

_Interesting..._

She looked at the rat's paws, and stared at them. She leaned over, and took one long look at the rat's face.

The rat is fat and well-fed, so it didn't die from hunger and she saw no external injuries. The eyes and snout were _moist, i_t didn't reek of dead animal, and its body and paws were tender and easy to move... all that pointed that the rat had died recently. Rigor Mortis hasn't settled in, so...

Yes, very recently.

The most unusual thing was that its nose was _bleeding._

She smelled the rat's mouth cautiously.

Its mouth had the exact same stench as...

_Oh bugger!_

Her eyes widened a fraction in panic, stomach tightening in a knot, and her hands moved to her face to cover her mouth and nose all the while jumping backwards, her back slamming hard against metal in her heist to put distance between her and the rat.

Rat poison.

This was bad. As in, I-will-probably-seriously-need-medical-attention-soon-if-I've-been-affected-which-I-can't-afford-and-oh-crap-oh-crap-oh-bloody-effing-crap sort of bad. She _really _did not need getting poisoned right now, and she absolutely despised hospitals. Made her uneasy.

With that thought in mind, she hoisted herself up as fast as she could and jumped over the edge, landing on her feet. She searched the dumpster's body and found what she was looking for:

The Symbol of Russ. And it had two wavy smoke-like lines on each side, warning others that this dumpster usually gets poisoned.

_And this, ladies and gents, is why you look for Russ' Symbol _she thought annoyed as she stared at said symbol.

She sighed loudly. There went another food supply.

"BOO!"

She jumped, startled, and without thinking she turned around and punched whoever it was on the nose.

"Holy effing macro!" the stranger swore all the while dodging to the side, hands up defensively.

She blinked. In front of her stood Lauren DeLaCroix, her long dark brown hair pulled into a braid and her sapphire blue eyes glinting as mischievously as ever. Lauren was about two months older than her, and alongside her identical twin brother Lucas DeLaCroix, they were widely known of having the habit of talking, pranking and stealing. A lot.

"Hmmm remind me to never sneak up on you ever again. A bit more, and a broken nose!" Lauren said with a grin that clearly said otherwise. Seriously, Lauren could be as bad as herself, if sometimes worse! One of the reasons they got along. Kinda. "Ah, who am I kidding? It's always worth it!" if possible, her grin widened. Uh-oh.

"BOO!"

This time, she calmly turned around and gave Lucas DeLaCroix a raised eyebrow and her best what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-leave-me-alone look. He pouted.

"It was worth a try," he said offhandedly.

Lauren still sported that grin, and said, "Don't worry dear Lucas, we still have until winter."

Lucas nodded, "And we still have spring of next year if we haven't all starved," he said cheerfully, "Or died via putrefaction." he added as an afterthought. All three of them shivered. Come winter most of them took refuge in London's old sewer tunnels. Good thing some had the brains to come up with another strategy than dieing from the smell of that place. Ew. Sewer tunnels _always_ a last resort for her. Though useful year 'round to get to places and escaping, everyone avoided the place like the plague, and for good reasons. Well, except Old Man Simmons and Little Jim. They stayed there 24/7, and are currently living legends. How they manage it, no one knows.

"So," said Lauren.

"Pranked anyone lately?" Lucas added.

"A cop-" Lauren said.

"-or three-" Lucas said.

"-a snobbishly rich person?" Lauren questioned. It was then that she noticed a handkerchief made of very expensive material covering Lauren's hand. It had some blood on it. They probably pranked, then stole it, because Lauren got hurt or something.

"-or maybe the mayor?" Lucas said cackling. Oh boy.

"Monsieur Jaques?" Lauren added while pointing at the French restaurant.

Lucas frowned. "Who?" he asked, brow scrunched up in genuine confusion.

Lauren rolled her eyes, "You know, Crazy Knife Guy?"

Lucas' eyes lit up in recognition, "Oh! _That _guy. He really needs to take a chill pill."

"Tell me about it. He threw a knife at me the other day for no good reason!" Lauren exclaimed.

She gave Lauren a pointed look, but Lauren was frowning. Odd. Lauren turned to her.

"Hey, just sayin' but you should probably stay clear from the dumpster," she said casually. In Shadow London, it was eat or get eaten, survival the fittest, and all that. No one looked out for anyone else except family, but at the same time we all stuck together. The Symbol of Russ being the only thing that helped others other than themselves. Of course, that didn't mean others did not use it at their own advantage, like marking it as dangerous when it wasn't as so to have their own food supply and not share with the rest.

She pointed at the dumpster and gave Lauren a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, we are the ones that re-marked it." Lauren said, sighing.

She narrowed her eyes and pointed from the dumpster to the restaurant and back again. She gave them

a questioning look.

"We saw them adding the rat poison," Lucas mumbled, shivering.

"We told this beggar, but he didn't believe us, you see-" Lauren said, turning a bit green.

"We get it, everyone for themselves-" Lucas rolled his eyes.

"But, seriously-" Lauren huffed.

"Stupid." they both said simultaneously.

She nodded in agreement. That beggar was _really _stupid. The DeLaCroix twins may be professional thieves and joke a lot in every possible situation imaginable – and she meant _every _possible situation imaginable – but they were also the bluntest, most honest people she had ever met. They don't lie. Ever. And they only swear when surprised, annoyed, or furious, which was extremely rare since they were always optimistically cheerful. Those two could joke even if they were surrounded by, say, nine ruthless gang members and they themselves were only armed with two forks, a bucket, and an apple.

Man, now _that _was a long day. Or should she say night? Whatever. She's got the scar to prove it. But still, the point is, _all three of them were a bit mental if you ever asked someone else. _

"Hey Shots," she rolled her eyes at the old nickname, "word of advice, you shouldn't only stay clear from the dumpster, but also from the South East Side Territory. The Black Scorpions are moving here," Lucas said with a grimace. Lauren rubbed her right shoulder, probably remembering the 'Two Forks an Apple and a Wooden Bucket' incident. Oh, and she got the nickname 'Shots' from said incident when she threw the apple at a gang member's mouth from X feet away. The guy ended up looking like one of those roasted pigs with apples in their mouths. In fact, the guy was so surprised he tripped backwards and ended up doing a domino effect with four other guys. Again, pure dumb luck.

"I hate the Gang People. They think that they can walk all over us Elhotians! And don't you let me get started on the Ilrreks, they give _us _a bad name! And not only that, I heard they made some sort of alliance!" Lauren humphed irritated, Lucas nodding along.

Ilrreks. Just what she needed to make this day complete.

Why oh why couldn't the gossip be about the Pure Dociles? At least things aren't going dull anytime soon.

You see, Shadow London was divided into groups, categories, etc. The Black Scorpion were classified as Gang People, or, people in gangs that did everything variating from beatings to dealing drugs to murder to helping to just being a group of friends striving for survival in these harsh conditions. It depends what kind of gang we are talking about, really.

The Black Scorpion just so happened to be the murdering type.

The Killred kind were the serial killers roaming around that knew of Shadow London.

The El Patróns side consisted of drug dealers and the black market. Both things should never be confused, as they are extremely different from each other.

The Ilrreks were the homeless and beggars that took things to the extreme. They carried guns and other weapons, ready to kill at the moments notice. They also liked robbing places and making a scene everywhere they went.

The Dociles were good people that consisted of harmless beggars and such that relied on the charity of strangers and once in a while lied. They stuck together and helped each other from time to time.

The Pure Dociles where the innocent. Usually consisted of people that just recently went homeless and children in that exact same situation. They are resourceful and live 100% from 'the land.' Nearly everyone went through that phase except a handfull of people. They helped each other and others.

And, finally, the Elhots. They lie, cheat, mock authority figures, are resourceful to a fault, steal the bare minimum in order to survive, are known to brawl and talk back, are usually loners, their middle name is 'stubborn,' communicate and help other Elhotians only via the Symbol of Russ, and are the awesomest of them all. Just saying.

The DeLaCroix twins and herself pertain to the Elhotian group.

The Elhots also were the group with the least respect of them all, mostly because of being loners.

The majority of the Gang Members and all of the Killreds and Ilrreks despise Elhotians because the Elhot group don't kill or beat others to near death when one stole. They were attention seekers while the Elhots mostly stuck to the shadows.

The Dociles and Pure Dociles thought that any stealing of sorts was bad. Father John _must _be doing something right for once. Good thing most of the Elhots were inmune to his preaching and yaddering. They also liked the terms 'group' and 'respect the authorities,' the complete opposite of the Elhot group.

In her opinion, that was boo-oring. The twins would also delightfully back that up with water balloons filled with bright green paint made from plant pigments specially picked from Hyden Park.

"-and then Officer Worton skidded on the hidden puddle and slammed into a brick wall while Lauren escaped the other way and I threw our DeLaCroix Elhotian Bombs at the other four cops, and they were, like, WOAH! And we escaped via roof tops with the help of that Semi-Docile Semi-Elhot kid, whatshisname?"

"Little Kevin," Lauren imputed.

"Oh, yeah. Dude, that eight-year-old is _fast! _So, yeah, Shots, you should_ really _stay away from about a ten mile radius from the Big Ben. We pissed off the cops real good this time!" Lucas said between laughter and tears.

"You should of seen their faces when they noticed we were gone!" Lauren laughed with a grin identical to her twin's.

"Fantastic!" Lucas exclaimed jovially.

"Brilliant-" Lauren laughed.

"Wicked-" Lucas said as he high-fived Lauren.

"Totally awesome!" they chorused.

"So back to Monsieur Jaques, he-"

"HEY YOU!"

"Aaaah!" Lauren and Lucas screamed, all three of them jumping three feet in the air.

The three of them slowly turned around, and saw...

Huh, speak of the devil and he will come.

"Why, good morning Monsieur!" Lucas greeted politely.

"It is such a _lovely _day today, isn't it?" Lauren said as she looked around, beaming at the beautiful weather.

It was cloudy and depressing.

"So lovely, we all should go swimming!" Lucas piped up cheerfully.

"Yes, swimming!" Lauren agreed.

The twins then proceeded in throwing their Shadow London Sewer Water Balloons at Monsieur Jaques' face, and bolted. Monsieur Jaques screamed when the balloons hit his chest, his already alarmingly angry red face turning an even deeper shade. Hmmm, the twins clearly needed more work on their aim; those balloons should've hit his face for a greater advantage and satisfaction.

"Vous, fils de pute u-" he spluttered. His flushed tomato face turning a sickly green when the smell finally hit his nose.

She took that as her que to leave ASAP. Getting knives thrown at her should not be a regular thing.

* * *

**Yay! Chapter 2 is done at last! It's also the longest chapter I've written so far! Almost 10 pages long! Wohoo! So, yeah. Next chapter Shots/Laddie will be getting a certain letter... FINALLY! **

**Oh, and also, since I am already changing the plot so much, I am making my own economy. You see, the muggle economy is good, but at the same time it sucks royal hippogriff. The story is set present day, and kinda follows cannon... but it also doesn't. At all. So be prepared to be surprised!**

**Please REVIEW! Thank you! ;D**


	3. Ch3 What The Eff?

**Ch 3. What The Eff!?**

Today, she decided, was one of the _longest _mornings she has ever had in a very long time:

First, she was awakened in the middle of the night due to Zeus' angry bolts, and losing her supplies in the process.

After spending said night making use of the American's 'duck and cover' strategy, she had to practically flee the area she had been sulking around for nearly a week because of a bakery owner that needed his eyes checked – the _boy _that stole from him looked nothing like _her! _Even if she traded with the rascal for the stolen bread – which was crushed by a chunk of splintered wood with perturbing nails – she wasn't the one who stole it!

Of course, the morning couldn't be complete without the daily sprint across London being chased by an angry owner who just so happened to be a gangster known for beating people half to death.

Oh no, and there's still more! After her morning exercise, she just _had _to stumble right into the clutches of The Most Shitty Officers of the Law! Though she had to admit, that had been the highlight of the day. Those two were always amusing, even if they were hellbent in capturing her because of a personal vendetta that has grown to _many _personal vendettas over the years. They were determined in capturing her, and they swore that they will.

Ha.

Now, to finally conclude this slightly eventful morning (believe her when she says that she has seen truly eventful mornings before and they cannot compare) she slipped on a wet surface sending her falling face-first in a dumpster full of rat poison, encountered the mischievous DeLaCroix twins, got warned that one of the most murderous gangs in London where moving into this area, that it would be wise to stay clear from about a ten to fifteen mile radius from Big Ben – which she would probably ignore in order to watch delightfully as the cops scurried around when she knew the twins where _far _away from that area – and last but not least, she had the pleasure of listening Monsieur Jaques aka Knife Guy curse away colorfully in french (she knew pute meant bitch and fils sons) while brandishing a newly aquired shinny object...

Oh boy.

By the time she rounded the corner – missing Monsieur Jaques' favorite new pointy toy by inches – and out of sight, the famous DeLaCroix twins were probably on the other side of London laughing their asses off and plotting away on how to obtain their supper and prank an unfortunate cop all in one go.

She ran through the grey streets of London, slipping in and out, left and right, dodging people in the busy street with practiced ease, until she stepped aside and disappeared into the next street and making a right turn into a big, but people-less street.

Her pace slowed down from running full blast to a light trot, to walking, and finally to a full stop. She looked at her surroundings, and sighed when she realized that she was back at where she was earlier this morning.

_Scrack_

Her bored, half-lidded, expressionless, dulled emerald eyes scanned the gloomy street, finding the almost deafening silence slightly uncomfortable after hearing that noise. She stood in the middle of the road for a minute in tense silence. Two minutes. Three minutes. Three minutes and twenty eight seconds...

Ooook.

She shrugged, thinking that she had probably imagined it, and turned to the side.

_Sc-scrak_

No, she _definitely _heard something! But, weirdly enough, the sound came from _above! _She turned her head up to gaze at the cloudy sky mixed with different shades of gray-

SPLAT! Her vision turned black as something slightly heavy and solid made contact with her face, making her nose sting a bit. It also smelled like paper.

_The HELL! _

Whatever it was, it bounced back and heavily landed in her hands making a light sound.

She stood there, in the middle of the abandoned street, wondering what the HELL just happened.

After what felt like forever, she looked down, turning her gaze towards the thing that fell quite literally from the sky and hitting her in the face from Russ-knows-where. She blinked. It was a letter. It probably fell from an open window or got swept here due to last night's strong gusts of wind, she reasoned. She inspected the letter closely.

Both her eyebrows raised up in barely concealed surprised curious confusion. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment – who the hell uses parchment anymore? – that had a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter

'H'. Turning the envelope over, she noticed that the address was written in emerald-green ink – seriously? – and there was no stamp. This was strange. _Really _strange.

She felt her heart give a jolt of excitement and her eyes became brighter, a mix of swirling excitement, curiosity, and intelligence replacing her usual bored, yet somewhat aware, apathetic look.

The letter had to be quite old for the paper to be yellowing, yet the ink (judging by the brightness and texture) looked fresh. The parchment could be old, and used for this particular letter written by someone as recently as yesterday. But, the question is, _who _would do that? A collector? No. Definitely someone either old or too poor to afford paper, but that can't be it. The ink. The ink was quite an unusual color, and looked expensive. And lamely snobbish. It was _parchment, _- no, really, _who_ writes using parchment anymore? - so whoever wrote it was quite old-fashioned. So, an old-fashioned rich or old person, or both. The pennmanship indicated to both options. By the curlyness and strict perfectness of the words, it is highly possible that it was written by a strict woman. It was written using a quill, judging by the strokes. The person also was right-handed.

So, the sender was a woman possibly between her fifties up to her sixties, is rather old-fashioned, is used to writing with quills, and is probably very demanding in terms of grammar.

She thought long and hard.

Quills and ink. An artist? No, that's not it.

Quills and parchment. Grammar. Oh! Teacher! She is maybe about... fifty-something, a strict grammar teacher? Or maybe even a history teacher! So many options... Probably strict, and determined in her ways of old. But really, parchment? Middle ages...

She was missing one piece. One more piece and the puzzle would be complete.

She read to whom it was addressed.

_What the – HUH!? _

It was addressed to _her!_

Not only that, but it had _her real name on it! _Well, only the first letter of her name and her last name – but who the hell cares! She hadn't told anyone, and she meant _anyone, _her name! She was mute, for Russ' sake! It wasn't adressed to Scotland Yard's Most Troublesome Pain In The Butt, Elhotian, Elhot-Runt, Squirrel, or Runners. Not even Shadow-Spurt, Birdsypoo, Brat, Shortie, BlackCat, Hunty-Pipsy – long story – or Kazekage.

Or Garbage-Face. If it said Garbage-Face she would know immediately who sent it.

She felt a pang of annoyance and maybe, _maybe, _even a teensy tiny really _really _small bit of fondness at that particular memory. She rolled her eyes. Not the time to be thinking about that.

It didn't say Shots, Laddie, or Glares; her favorite nicknames, either. Unless the 'L' did stand for Laddie... but her name also start with an 'L.' So, no.

Instead, it had her last name. It said:

_Ms L. Potter_

_The Floor_

_Blue-Narrow-Alley-Wood-Shelter_

_25 Tudor Street_

_London_

_Great Britain (U.K.)_

Again, What. The. Fu-

Wait.

So many questions bubbled up in her head, making her feel a bit dizzy, confused, and most of all, suspicious. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no family, nor anyone for the matter. But the question she needed more answering was why the bloody hell was the directions on the letter so damn _precise? _It was annoying and even amusing how this person went through all this trouble to let her know that the sender was watching her? But how does this person know _exactly_ were she temporarily resided for five days?A stalker? Great. Just _great. _How did this person know that she had been crashing at a small narrow alley, between two houses, that was painted in blue? A hunk of wood acting as a roof in-between the gap? A threat? Or maybe a prank of some sorts? Really, the only person she knew would do something as annoying as this is, well, herself.

She knew for a fact that no Elhotian would pull a prank like this. Too dull. Specially the twins, who liked loud noises – something rather un-Elhotian except for escaping, but, hey, everyone has their own style – water balloons with surprise smelly substances, and flying burritos. And tacos. Lots and lots of tacos.

She passed her hand over the smooth surface of the thick letter, something akin to excitement and curiosity churning in her stomach.

She clutched the letter, and looked around shiftily at her surroundings. Was she being watched right now? She narrowed her eyes at the letter. She slowly brought it up to her nose and smelled it, looking for traces of gun powder or other explosive smells.

Nope. Clean.

Also, it was too light to be a bomb, but two powders delicately separated by a thin slice of paper could cause one hell of an explosion if mixed with the wrong liquid, like say, water.

She found chemistry rather fascinating.

She sighed. _Only one thing left to do to complete the puzzle to this mystery_, she thought as she stared at the envelope with determination. But before that...

She looked around once again, and sprinted as fast as she could away from the place.

**OooOooOooOooOooO**

She took one deep, satisfying, breath.

She had ran all the way to Hyden Park, only pausing here and there to take a small break, her letter stored in her fading black book-bag. She strolled around the park for a while, admiring the trees and blooming summer flowers of multiple colors such as beautiful reds, oranges, yellows, and even lilac. It was a cloudy day with a fresh breeze from the freezing north pole, so there weren't many people around, an added bonus. She took off her barely-holding-on stapled sneakers and made a bee-line towards the moist grass and flowers, ignoring the benches completely. Her feet padded softly on the smushy wet ground, the grass kissing and tickling her feet, relieving the angry blisters that had formed.

You see, this was the first time wearing shoes since she was, like, five, so they really bothered her. A lot. They _hurt _and were a real pain in the backside.

She picked her spot at the foot of a giant oak tree and next to a flowerbed of reds, violets, and yellows. Looking at the flowers and her environment, she felt as though she could almost smile.

Almost.

She went to open her book-bag, but stopped. What if someone were to recognize her? She really did not want to be disturbed at the moment. She stood up, and turned towards the great oak tree that she had claimed as her home for nearly a whole year when she was nine. She grabbed on to the trunk of the tree, and felt her bare feet feel up the hard bark, up until she could grab on to a thick branch. Hurling herself up, she climbed the tree until she was half-way up, at a desired height. She made herself comfortable at the thick branch, feeling safe and nostalgic.

The safest she had ever been in her life was when she was nine and living up in a tree.

It _did _take some time, tough. She wasn't very experienced in climbing trees, and the bark felt pointy and hard. All those failed attempts at climbing it, determined at becoming its friend. Not to mention the times she fell from a tree because she moved in her sleep! But for some reason, she felt some odd sense of comfort, so she tried again and again.

And this, my dear friends, was why people called her stubborn.

She didn't know why, but maybe it was the knowledge that most people don't look up, or that they cannot climb trees, or even maybe because she liked being so high up from the ground. She loved the feel of the bark, the smell of the tree and the park, how the bright green leaves rustled as the wind blew. She loved how said leaves covered and surrounded her, how light would shine through them making them brighter and alive. It was safe. It _felt _safe.

And so, in her favorite tree, she opened the letter – not after admiring the seal, and wondering what the 'H' stood for – that has been giving her a headache for the past hour and a half. The letter inside was made of the same heavy parchment as the envelope. No wonder it bloody hurt when it fell flat on her face! Also, parchment, _really?_

With determination masking her eyes, she unfolded the letter with admirable patience and read:

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**_

_**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**_

_**Dear Miss Potter,**_

_**We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**_

_**Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.**_

_**Yours sincerely,**_

_**Minerva McGonagall**_

_**Deputy Headmistress**_

She stared at the paper, no, 'scuse me, _parchment._

The wind rustled the leaves, howling softly in her ears.

Questions exploded like fireworks in her brain.

What do they mean by _they await my owl?_

What the fudgenugget is a Mugwump?

What the eff !?

Magic can't be real! Can it? Impossible! What's next, the world is actually flat like a pizza? Pizza. Melted cheese with sliced tomatoes and adorned with olives and oregano, some garlic powder-

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hasn't eaten anything in ages.

Ok. She was getting _way _offtrack.

This has got to be a prank... but really, it didn't make any sense! And she had to take into consideration that a letter seemingly appeared out of nowhere from the sky. So there really were only two possible options:

1) She was hallucinating on magic mushrooms.

2) It was the truth.

Hmmmm seeing as she was starving and hadn't been eating any suspicious-looking mushrooms lately, it had to be option number 2.

But really, is it true? Could it be possible that... magic... actually existed?

She wasn't going to grow moldy warts, turn green, and melt at the mere contact of water, was she?

She blinked a few times. She was getting rather ridiculous.

Ok. Presuming all this was real, why wouldn't they send, say, a wizard or witch, to give her some actual proof?

She wracked her brain for anything that would help straighten out her doubts, any proof, weird, unexplainable things...

Waaaaaaait a sec.

Weird and unexplainable things _did _happen to her all throughout her life! Strange things always happened around her.

Once, her aunt, tired of her coming back from the barber's looking as though she hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair so short – or at least, shorter than usual – she was almost bald except for her fringe, which she left "to hide that horrible scar". To her astonishment, her hair had grown back in one night. What astonished her most, perhaps, was that it wasn't her usual 'boy' cut, but her hair was around shoulder length, the same length she secretly desired to have. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she _couldn't_ explain how it had grown back so quickly.

On the other hand, she'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school's kitchens. Her cousin Donnovan's gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to her surprise as anyone else's, there she was, sitting on the chimney.

The Dur- erm, her relatives had received a very angry letter from her headmistress – a total bitch, mind you – telling them that she had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do (as she shouted at the Walrus through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors. As ridiculous as it sounded now, she supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

There was also another time when she had been running away from a group of El Patróns because she had accidently eavesdropped on them during a trade of not-quite-very-legal things. They had cornered her and there was no chance of escape, so she closed her eyes to concentrate on a plan. She had desperately wished to get as far away from there, and after a loud CRACK, she opened her eyes and found herself at the opposite side of the River Thames. What the eff! Those were her exact thoughts.

Her relatives. They called her Freak. Was that it? Was that the reason...? It made sense. Their hateful looks. Their hurtful ways. Their harsh words. Their avoidance of everything magical...

Magic. She couldn't believe it, but at the same time it made so much sense. She was a witch.

Also, a letter falling from above and hitting her in the face that just so happened to be addressed to her?

She groaned. It wasn't even noon yet!


	4. Ch4 Hunts, Leads, the Crazy, and Retards

**Ch 4. Hunts, Leads, The Crazy, And Retards**

She read and re-read her acceptance letter to a magical school found in who-knows-where. She kept re-reading the small official-looking paragraph even though the words and meaning alluded her, reading but not comprehending what it said anymore, her mind on something else and in a complete daze. It wasn't until the twenty seventh time reading it that she noticed there was yet another folded up piece of yellowing paper inside the slightly forgotten envelope. She reached for it, and unfolded it with caution.

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**_

**Uniform**

_**First-year students will require:**_

_**1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)**_

_**2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear**_

_**3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)**_

_**4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)**_

_**Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags**_

**Set Books**

_**All students should have a copy of each of the following:**_

**The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _by Miranda Goshawk_**

**A History of Magic **_**by Bathilda Bagshot**_

**Magical Theory **_**by Adalbert Waffling**_

**A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration **_**by Emeric Switch**_

**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore_**

**Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger_**

**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander_**

**Top Twenty Delicious Alcohol Beverages _by Cockle Bourbon_**

**Other Equipment**

_**1 wand**_

_**1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)**_

_**1 set of glass or crystal phials**_

_**1 telescope**_

_**1 set brass scales**_

_**Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad**_

_**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**_

As she read through the school supplies – doing a double-take at Top Twenty Delicious Alcohol Beverages, and once again questioning her sanity – she decided that whether it was the truth or a hoax, she would search for any signs and proof that all this was true using every single skill and brain power she had to her maximum capacity and ability. Truth or not, she was starting to love this exciting new mystery, and if it really was an extremely well planned and detailed prank, she _will _trace it and find the culprit if it was the last thing she would ever do.

Not to mention, the curiosity was killing her...

She folded both of her letters and enclosed them back into the envelope, then putting said envelope in her book-bag for safe keeping. She slid her book-bag onto her shoulder and in one swift motion she was sliding down the tree with her feet to the trunk and gracefully landing on the soft ground. She hesitated as whether she should put her sneakers back on or not, but decided in the end that it would be way too troublesome having to carry them all the time so she sat down and unwillingly put them back on.

Now, if all this was real, she would need to go get the school supplies, so that meant that there was a store selling them. Maybe even multiple shops. Where would she be able to buy all those stuff in London? If it was all real, that meant that it was a well guarded secret, so it _had _to be hidden from everyone else. Also, there was a _school. _Wouldn't that mean that there were others? And wasn't there a book that said 'grade one'? It sounded as if there was a whole civilization hidden out there.

That, she supposed, should be making things easier.

If there was another world, then she was positively sure someone in Shadow London would know, eavesdropped, or heard about it. People talked, and she knew perfectly well who were the eyes and ears of the streets, who told the truth and who didn't, where to go for certain information...

Shadow London was never dull. Unless it was one of _those _days, then it was incredibly boring.

**OooOooOooOooO**

She ran along one of the park's many paths, accidentally bumping a man's shoulder as she went.

It wouldn't be until several hours later that the man would notice that his change and favorite black pen were missing.

**OooOooOooOooO**

She casually strolled out of the park and walked through the many streets London had to offer, looking around boredly without a care in the world. In reality, she was paying attention to the smallest detail, alert to her surroundings and observing other people for any suspicious signs.

She walked until she spotted a sign of Russ with a square encircling it, drawn on a wall next to an entrance to an abandoned back alley. She walked down the dark alley until she saw the same sign on a blue dumpster as large as the one next to that French restaurant.

She knocked three times, paused for two seconds, then knocked once more.

Suddenly, the heavy lid moved to the side, and from within the dirty dumpster popped up a messy mop of knotted sandy brown hair. Two large icy blue eyes stared at her with suspicious scared confusion at first, but changed to guarded relief once he realized who it was.

"Yo Bolt! Haven't seen ya since forever. How's it going?" he signed, warily looking around.

"Been busy. I see you still like claiming big dumpsters as your home, Sammy." she signed back, almost rolling her eyes.

Sam was a small deaf eight-year-old Docile kid who lived in dumpsters. He looked for rarely used dumpsters and emptied them to use them as a home. The heavy lid kept the rain out and the only thing he had to do when someone used it was scootch to the side and pray not to be seen. Although smart, he was terribly insecure and a bit of a coward due to the fact that he couldn't hear his surroundings and relied mostly on vibrations, which made him super paranoid about everything. Sam also knew sign language, meaning that he was literally the only person besides another to whom she was able to speak to. Sam never actually talked because he was too embarrassed and wasn't sure how his voice sounded. He never took the proper classes to help him in speech, seeing as he never went to school and was born deaf.

"Yeah, but I had to abandon it last night 'cause of the storm. Only good thing that came out of it was that this chunk of raw meat got cooked to death. It wasn't _that_ bad, actually. Needed salt." he signed rather excitedly. She frowned. But then he hastily added, "Some rich lady threw it out because she dropped it on the floor. It wasn't rotten or anything." he signed. Good. Raw rotten meat was _extremely _dangerous. Looks like Sammie was finally getting the gist of it. Sam has been living like this since he lost his parents in a fire last year, so he was still pretty green when it came to living on the streets.

Good thing the kid was actually pretty smart.

Also, seeing as she was one of only two people who could communicate with the deaf kid, she took it upon herself to introduce Sam to Shadow London and even gave him some advice, something she never did without getting anything in return. Because of that, Sam looked up to her, which annoyed her greatly.

She made a face. "Rich lady throwing out perfectly good food. Why doesn't that fucking surprise me? With the present economy, there is bound to be a large increase in Shadow London population soon. The rich disgust me." she angrily signed. Sam nodded sadly. If the government didn't do anything soon... well, things could get bad. Really bad.

"The higher ups ignore us because we're 'filthy homeless criminal brats' and the regular citizen turn up their noses on us. Adults suck." Sam signed resignedly.

Three years on the streets and now he finally accepts it? The guy sure took his bloody time. She has been close to five years out here, and thanks to her oh so lovely relatives she understood it crystal clear years before ending up on the streets that adults were not to be trusted. You had to be tough to survive out here and it was no place for whiners. She had a feeling that Sammy would resort to stealing come winter; no lone Docile could stay that way for long. Sam was going to have to learn that one cannot hold on to their integrity for long and not starve pathetically on the streets of London.

One _could _escape that fate by going to Social Services, an Orphanage, or being placed in a Foster Home, but for most starving on the streets was the more favorable choice.

Everyone had a sob story, and she heard enough of them to know that living alone on the streets was the correct choice. Street rats distrust adults for very good reasons, and is why they mostly kept to themselves and away from any kind of adult, be it from Shadow London, a regular citizen, or any kind. Well, mostly from Shadow London. Regular citizens ignored them, right until something went missing.

"Welcome to club Adults Majorly Suck," she signed. "About time you lost faith in them. We are street urchins, no one takes care of us except ourselves. We feed ourselves, clothe ourselves, shelter ourselves... The only option one has out here to get looked after is to become a Gang Member." she stoically looked at Sam pointly. He averted his eyes.

"Uh, about that... I think I'll become a Gang Member instead of going Elhot." Sam looked down, as though ashamed. She really rolled her eyes this time. It was painfully obvious that Sam still did not fully understand how Shadow London worked, but then again, it was pretty fucking complicated.

She shrugged nonchalantly.

Sam looked at her with surprise. "You're not angry that I'm goin' to join a Gang?"

"No, why should I? It's your decision. As I said before, we follow our own rules."

"But Gang Members-"

She rolled her eyes again. "Ok, listen closely you great dickhead, because I am going to give you a quick crash course on how things go around this fucking place, and I ain't repeating it! Got it?" Sam nodded furiously, wide-eyed.

"Gang Members are what we all call people who form part of a gang that belongs in Shadow London. And by people, I mean that; people. Gangs can be composed fully of Elhots, Killreds, Dociles, Semis, or a mix of everything this effing place has to offer. Really, Gangs mostly do what Elhots do, but in a group. They can also do some killin' but it actually really depends on who or how many are in said group. A Gang is another strategy for survival, companionship, and organization. Each Gang has a leader and it is up to said leader of how his or her Gang is going to work. Some are just a group of loyal companions or even friends that do everything together to survive. Some are just that; survival groups that are as efficient as beehives and each member contributes to the group. If you join one, you should first investigate it or you might end up in one that kills you if you don't meet each day's quota."

There was a long silence, Sam looking at her gobsmacked. She thought that he was about to nod, and maybe ask something of great importance, but instead, he said, "Holy Russ, I've never heard you speak, well sign, more than a few sentences a week before. That's _got _to be a record!"

Mental face palm. Nevermind, the kid was stupid.

She looked at the eight-year-old coldly.

"Uh, sorry Bolt. So what do I have to do to get into one?" he signed-asked, squirming under her cold gaze.

"Figure it out yourself. This is part of the test you will have to pass if you want in. Unless they have formally invited you in and want you so badly they kill the test." she told him with a smirk. Last week, a Gang asked her to join them and she flatly refused, telling them that she had no interest in working for cowardly shitheads who assault old nannies for a profit and deal with El Patróns. Predictably, they did not take that very well, which ended up with her using up the last of her handmade gun powder bombs to escape, and forcing her to move to where she currently resided. Well, were she _used _to reside. Stupid storm. "Though I should probably warn you that most won't take someone in that hasn't yet reached the double digits. Most die or get caught by the authorities before reaching their tenth birthday, ya know?"

Sam gulped.

"What if... what if – if – if I create my own? With kids my own age?" Sam signed nervously.

Her smirk widened by a fraction. Whatya know, the kid actually _had _brains.

"I don't care."

"Huuuh? But is it a good idea?"

"Dunno, is it?"

"You tell me!"

"And where's the fun in that?"

"Fucking bitch"

After Sam signed that, he froze. She could see the panic in his eyes.

She tried her hardest not to glare. She needed to ask him something, and she wouldn't be able to do that if he was shitting himself. Sam looked ready to bolt at a moments notice. Though, she was kinda proud that the kid had finally stood up to her. There's still hope, then.

"Stay where you are," she signed as a precaution. He tensed and started not-so-discreetly looking for a quick escape route. She rolled her eyes. Dociles. "Sam, you fucking know me well enough to know that I don't hurt my allies. I just need you to answer me a question or two, and I'll be on my merry way to find other answers elsewhere. Preferably away from the Sewers."

Sam visibly relaxed, but was still somewhat nervous. Her glare wasn't _that _scary, was it?

"Shoot." he signed.

"Have you ever heard of Hogwarts? Or ever overheard a conversation that included the names Minerva McGongall and Albus Dumbledore?" she signed. After a small pause, she added,"Or Mugwump?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at the odd question, and shook his head in the negative.

"Oh well, it was worth a try," she signed casually, disguising her disappointment with more stoicness.

"You could always ask Hawk Vision if it is _really_ important, or go to the Trade Spot," he signed hesitantly, making sure in emphasizing the word _really_. She nodded, thinking that she'd go to Hawk Vision if she was truly stuck with no way out. That old woman was hard to trade with, and her demands and bargains were sometimes on the extreme side. She didn't quite like that old woman. Gave her the creeps.

She searched through her brain for important information she could share with Sam to thank him for his time and help, and that's when she remembered what the DeLaCroix twins had warned her from.

"Sam, if I were you, I would be packing up and getting the hell to the other side of London." she warned.

He frowned. "Why?"

"Ah, no good reason. Just the bloody Black Scorpion Gang moving into this part of London. No biggie."

She watched with some amusement as Sam's face turned a vampire-worthy shade of white and trembling overtook his small body. Then, his terrified face transformed into one of disbelief.

"What do you fucking mean by, 'If I was you, I would be packing up and running' thing? You'd probably stick around just to spite them!" he signed animatedly. He was still pale, and the trembling hasn't stopped.

She smirked. She sometimes was surprised by how well this eight-year-old newbie knew her so well. She shrugged, gave a small wave of good-bye, and left.

She had a magical selling shop to find.

**OooOooOooOooOooO**

After debating with herself for a while, she decided to leave Hawk Vision, the Black Market, and the putrefactious sewers of London for the very last.

She searched left and right, day and night, asking the people she knew would give truthful answers as long as there was a trade or bargain struck, but to no avail. Some even told her they didn't know a thing after said trade or bargain was made, though she found that she couldn't get angry at them. The slight increase of beggars on the streets that don't have a clue about Shadow London were putting everything in jeopardy, and food was growing scarce due to their careless and clueless disregard of Shadow London Laws. If no one does anything about it, in a few years... Well, she hoped everyone knew what's going on by then, or everyone in England was going to be royally screwed.

Stupid rich governors and their fucking greed.

A man bumped into her, causing her to stagger backwards and almost fall down to the ground.

"Watch it, stupid bra- do I know you?"

Uh-oh, that never was a good thing to hear.

The man had greying messy brown hair escaping wildly from underneath a dark newsboy cap that looked old and tattered, shadowing half of his face. He also wore a worn long light brown overcoat that had dark stains on it; his arms were hovering protectively under the heavy jacket. She narrowed her eyes at the individual, the stranger doing the same thing; he looked as if he was trying to match up a face and a name together.

He smelled of pot and other substances, so, conclusion? Drug dealer.

Ignoring the hunch that felt eerily like a run-you-fucking-dunderhead, her eyes took in every single detail of this person, analyzing him from head to toe.

Homeless, so not a regular drug dealer, or an El Patrón. Those were usually rich bastards.

Unmarried; he had no wedding ring, and there weren't any tell-tale signs that he wore any jewelery, except for the tan mark on his wrist indicating that he used to own a wrist watch- _stop._

She was doing it again. She promised herself she wouldn't be doing it as much, but she can't help herself! She wished she could turn this damn analytical ability off, even though sometimes it saved her life.

Shows signs of being an active drug user.

Ok, not happening. Stupid brain. Stupid curiosity.

Hard, cold eyes gazing into her own.

It gave her the shivers. Ok, maybe the ability was being useful... this time.

Black heavy boots, stained, and caked in mud.

A heavy coat in the middle of July?

And those stains weren't ink blotches.

They even... looked... a very very very extremely dark... shade... of...

_OH FUCK! _

Ignoring the flips her stomach made and how her heart rate quickened, she gave the stranger her best confused look, a nod as a greeting, and tried walking past him as casually as she could.

Keyword: tried.

You see, the pot-smelling dude decided to block her way, and since they kinda were in a cramped alley...

"Oh, I know where I know you from!" he exclaimed hungrily, his eyes wide with madness. "You are the brat that interfered with an important drug exchange!" he cackled. "You cost the El Patróns millions, brat." he finished with a whisper, his wide eyes boring into her calm, stoic ones.

Despite her calm exterior, she was seriously trying to remember what Mad-Pot-Smelling-Dude was talking about.

_Uh, ok, when did I interfere with an exchange between freaking El Patróns? _She thought frantically.

Her mind came up blank, but for an entirely different reason that people would think of. The thing is, she had this nasty bad habit of walking in during illegal exchanges between powerful individuals. She had an even nastier bad habit of accidently eavesdropping on, ahem, things that she wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping on. Wrong place, wrong time, she kept telling herself. Always. Though sometimes – ok, _most _of the time – she shamelessly used that precious information to her own advantage. But, still, the thing was, she had landed herself in this type of sticky situations too many times to actually care. Lauren reckoned that she broke some kind of record.

"The higher-ups will award me if I give them the brat!" he chuckled evily, "If the thing that has been a bother to them shows up gift-wrapped at their door, I will be rewarded!" he laughed loudly, crazed eyeballs rolling in their sockets, his lips curled in a deranged smile.

Now he's talking to himself. Great.

And she _still _did not have a clue about what incident he was talking about. She pissed way too many El Patróns and other big shots in the past that she had lost count.

Taking advantage of the fact that Mad-Pot-Smelling-Dude was too busy cackling to notice what she was doing, she contemplated in whether making a run for it towards where she was going, or turning around and making a run for it. She was fine with either option, because whatever she picked, it would end up with her running _away _from this area. She decided that she wasn't going to risk it, so she silently slipped away, quietly turned around, and-

"Where do you think you're going!" he yelled. He reached into his coat, and their eyes met momentarily.

She ran like the wind, chanting _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck OH FUCK! _all the way 'till the end of the alley, into a normal street, and did not stop running until she reached the one place she could feel somewhat safe; Hyden Park.

**OooOooOooOooOooO**

_Back to square one, _she thought gloomily, as she admired how the bright green leaves contrasted with the dark grey sky beautifully, swaying softly in the light summer breeze. Her little encounter with the insane drug dealer happened over two hours ago, and she still wasn't planning on climbing back down to Earth from the robust Oak tree.

Fear. That's what it was. She hasn't felt it so strongly since she was four years old, panicking at the sound of heavy footsteps leading to The Cupboard Under the Freakin' Stairs, wondering when her uncle was going to hit her. And not knowing when it would happen was the worst bit.

She felt her neck warm up in shame; she was being a coward, a total wimp. She has faced far worse things before, and always looked danger in the eye. But, she reasoned, that it was that fear of when she was four that allowed her to grow up, to be the seemingly fearless girl she was now. She shouldn't be ashamed of Fear, she was human, after all.

_And, apparently, a wizard, _she thought with humor. _Or witch, in my case._

She took out the acceptance letter from her trustworthy book-bag, and re-read it again. She had until July 31st to find out more about this 'Magical World' and this school for witches and wizards. That's about two weeks from now.

_That's one hell of a birthday present! s_he thought excitedly. _No! Don't. _she stomped on any happy thoughts. It wouldn't do getting her hopes up, all this could still be a mistake, a cruel prank.

Feeling that today she deserved to eat something that wasn't out of the trash can, she returned the letter back to her book-bag, and took out the spare change she stole earlier, combining the coins with a ten pound note. Which she also stole. From Mad-Pot-Smelling-Dude.

She sorta nicked it when they bumped into each other.

_Ooops._

She made sure to triple-check the area before climbing back down, and she did so with a smirk.

**OooOooOooOooOooO**

It was after three days of searching that she made any progress at all. Finally, she found someone who knew something about what she was looking for, even if that something was that that person did not know the answer but knew someone else who knew. Problem? Both were sly adults hard to bargain with. Well, one of them. This one was an idiot.

"'Ogwats? I re'ember som-e- in' abou' it. A colleague o' mine mentioooone-d it a few yeaars ago. It wa' sooo loooong ago... my memo'y ain't da saeme as befoower." said a man slumped down in a forgotten corner of a street. He wore a worn heavy jacket, a stained coffee colored collar shirt, and one of those old newsboy hats, covering most of his face. He was at least forty six and drunk as a skunk.

It was thanks to years of deciphering incoherent drunk speech that she understood what the guy just said. And years of living on the streets that she knew exactly what would help 'jog their bloody memory' up a bit.

Luckily, she had come prepared.

She opened her book-bag slowly, to which the drunkard's hands also discreetly slid to his pockets, which had a rectangular object bulging out, and she took out a can of beer. The drunkard's hands slid back out of his pockets, but still lingered around them. She stuck the can of cheap beer in his face, making hypnotic motions, motioning him to take it. The drunkard's fingers were about to clench on the beer, but at the very last moment, she pulled away.

She gave him her best 'spill-the-beans-and-you'll get your-reward' look.

"Ah, yeh, I'm re'ember'in somthin' my memoorie is sluwly comin' baaack!" he exclaimed abruptly, his bloodshot eyes eyeing the can hungrily. Geez, this guy had no shame whatsoever.

She raised an eyebrow, all the while moving the can and making the liquid inside sploosh and skloosh softly but loud enough for the drunk to hear.

"Yeh, yeh, it wa da ma'an we call Puffin'Brain," he confessed, still looking at the beer in her hands as if sexually attracted to it. Ew.

She threw him his dirty beer, and he immediately opened it and took one large gulp, some of it drooling down, his ruly beard sucking it up like a seaweed-looking sponge. She stared, waiting for the man to finish so he could tell her _where _to find this Puffin'Brain dude. He used the back of his hand to wipe most of the booze up, and barked a "Scraaam kwid! Or I'll-" but he stopped abruptly mid-sentence, looking as flabberghast as if he had just been punched in the gut by Hammerfist Ed.

She had pulled out yet another can of beer, this time of _much _better quality.

She wrote something quickly on a scrap of soggy paper, and showed it to the drunk. It took him at least five minutes to read and understand it.

"Yu can fin' 'im at da Thry Skuul Tavrn. He is a reguuler custummerr" he slurred.

She tossed him the can of beer, and watched with a scowl how he opened it and dawned it without breathing.

Russ, how she _hated _alcohol.

She backed away slowly until she felt that she was a safe distance away, turned around to leave, and heard a banging noise from behind. A rough hand pulled on her shoulder and felt a oh so familiar blade to her back.

"Naw naw li'ittle girly," the drunk whispered in her ear, the stench of his alcohol breath tickling her cheek, the blade pressing in her back.

She resisted the urge of punching him squarely on the face for calling her 'little girly.'

"Gi'ivee me all yur mo'neeey an' anythin' o' va-alue."

She gave the drunkard her best 'fuck off or die' glare.

She felt highly smug and immensely amused when the drunk staggered backwards and comically landed on his butt.

She couldn't talk, so she _had _to learn of a way to make people back off. She squared her shoulders, gave the drunk another withering glare, and left.

She tripped on her way out of the alley, completely ruining her awesome exit.

**OooOooOooOooOooO**

In a half-forgotten alley slightly on the outskirts of London, the one called Shots by nearly everyone stood in front of a shabby building with a huge, rotting sign with three skulls painted on it, full of dark blacks, greying whites, and angry reds.

_The Three Skulls, _she read.

She slowly opened the door, and silently slipped into the place unnoticed, the smell of strong tobacco, other not-so-legal substances, and stale alcohol hitting her nose. The smokey room was full of wooden round tables with some men sitting on wobbly chairs, either smoking, getting high, drinking themselves to death, or, she didn't know how they did it, all three things at the same time. There were many cracks on the walls, a small TV playing today's rugby game hung to the side, the ceiling looked as if needed a good repair, and the bar-man looked as if he had been to hell and back. And was staring right at her.

Great. So much for silently slipping in unnoticed.

Deciding that what the hell, she had already been noticed, she might as well greet the owner and be done with. If the one that went by the name 'Puffin'Brain' was a regular customer, then the owner is _bound _to know him. She casually walked up to the counter, sat on one of the high up bar stools, and engaged the scarred bar owner in a staring contest.

The owner was a muscular middle-aged man with broad shoulders and big hands. He had icy cold black eyes and a scar that criss-crossed at the back of his bald head and stretched to his strong jaw, another scar narrowly missing his left eye and reaching above his mouth. He was cleaning a glass with a piece of cloth, his big hands showing off remarkable burns. He also had this air of superiority, as if used to being feared, respected, and obeyed.

They stared each other down, not one or the other giving up at the unofficial contest.

Three minutes...

He turned his stare into a glare.

Four minutes, thirty six seconds...

Ok, maybe this wasn't the best way to ask for information, but she wasn't taking any shit from anyone.

Ten minutes...

He kicked up his glare intensity a notch.

Fifteen minutes...

She crossed her arms defiantly. She wondered if he had been a soldier, stationed somewhere in the Middle East. He definitely had the build, and those burn marks were from a special type of expl- not the time.

Seventeen minutes...

Now both of them were glaring holes into the other. They were attracting a small crowd now...

"Three pounds that the boss wins," she heard a gruff voice whisper from behind.

A snort.

"_Five_ pounds that the boss pulls the knife out."

Great, another Crazy Knife Guy? At least this one wasn't French... or Italian. Or Greek with a German accent.

"Seven that he throws her out the window!" a different voice announced gleefully.

Oh, brother.

"Ha! Well I think that the little girl will go crying before any-"

Oh, he did _not _just called her that!

She turned around to the man who had the _balls _to say that, and gave him the worst glare she could possibly muster.

The man blanched, and the crowd of nine grown men took a step back, surprise and something else coloring their scruffy faces. Surprise that turned to shame at getting scared of a 'little crying girl' so easily. Of course, that didn't last long, and now she had nine grown men with wounded prides to answer to. Again, so much for silently slipping in unnoticed.

"Why you!" the man pulled out a knife, brandishing it threateningly in front of her.

She raised an eyebrow.

_Again_, that seemed to surprise them. Obviously, they've never met a ten-almost-eleven-year-old kid who did not flinch or bawl at the sight of a pointy knife.

Ok, why is everyone using knives on her? Are they back in fashion or something? This was getting annoying.

They took two steps forwards, by now seven of them having pulled out their knives, one was picking his nose, and the remaining one actually had a sodding crowbar.

_Ok, where the freaking fuck did he pull THAT from?_

By the time she was seriously considering bolting out the door and accidently leading her murderous persecutors towards the Big Ben area, someone abruptly burst in a dry, deep, rough laugh.

The nine men halted in their tracks with wide eyes, rooted to their spot, knives still out and ready to slaughter. She stared at them, not taking her eyes off them for a moment, eyeing the pointy sharp tools in their scarred hands.

She jumped up startled as a mug hit the table. Loudly.

She turned around and stared at the chuckling bar owner, who was now cleaning a bowl.

How he managed to clean an innocent-looking bowl, and look super menacing at the same time, was beyond her.

_That's got to hurt, _she thought warily, _being hit in the head with that. Looks hard._

"Anyone capable of standing up to me without flinching and able to make a group of ruffians back off without words is welcomed anytime to my humble abode!" he exclaimed, all the while looking at her intensely. "And a free drink." he added.

She stared at the mug in front of her suspiciously, then looked back up. The owner was gone, probably inside the kitchen doing what bar owners do.

"It ain't poisoned, if that's what ya thinkin'," came a voice to her left. It came from one of the men who had been close to chopping her to pieces, and now sat two seats away from her. Actually, four out of nine had taken up seats at the bar counter uncomfortably near her. The man who spoke was actually young in comparison to most of the others, maybe in his mid to early twenties. His hair was dyed in a bright crimson red and a deep blue, had a silver piercing on his right side of his nose, and wore a leather jacket with pride. In short, the type of person her dear aunt and uncle despise.

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

The man shrugged. "The boss seems to like ya, so I doubt it's poisoned," he said, taking a sip out of his mug.

"Yeah, kid, you should consider yourself lucky," said another man, this one middle-aged, black hair, black curly mustache, and a cigarette protruding from his mouth. "You have no fuckin' idea how hard it is to be liked by the boss," he said, blowing out smoke from his nostrils like a dragon.

She felt uneasy being in their company, seeing as these same people had tried to gutt her up not even three minutes ago. Maybe because she was somehow accepted by the 'boss' and now were colleagues or something? The way they talked to her was joking and somewhat friendly.

Fat chance if they thought she was going to get friendly with people she'd just met. Specially adults.

Someone whistled. He had long black hair, a scruffy beard, and looked about twenty one or two. "Understatement of the bleedin' century. Say, kid, what's a little gi-" here, she threw him a glare to remember. "Ok, ok!" the man threw his hands up, everyone seated nearby laughing roughly. "What's such a young fellow doing at the good old Three Skulls Pub?" he asked.

Hmm, yes, what was she doing here? Oh, yeah, information about possibly one of their... companions.

She took out the newly acquired black pen, and waved it around.

"You need another pen because this one is outta ink?"

_Oh, yes, I entered a bar infested with knife-waving imbeciles just to borrow a bloody pen!_

She shook her head no. She pretended to write mid-air.

"Yer here ta write a school report?"

Nope.

"You want someone to take yer order?"

She shook her head no. Wait, shouldn't this have been the first question? She switched tactics and pretended to write on her hand...

"Yer gonna give us yer phone number?" he asked with a knowing smirk.

She glared at the Crimson Punk heatedly with disgust seeping through her mask, her insides momentarily going cold, but relaxed with the knowledge that the door wasn't that far off.

"You wants to work here as a waitress?"

_Helloooo? Got any brains in there? Not old enough to work!_

"You want a smoke?"

She raised an eyebrow. Seriously?

"You need cheese!" the one with the scruffy beard exclaimed.

That even didn't make any sense...

All four men ignored the absurd question, probably used to the man's antics.

"You want to stab us to death with the pen?"

No, but she was starting to fantasize about it!

"Idiots. It is _obvious _what she wants." Curly Mustache puffed out.

_Finally!_

"She is lost, and is in dire need of directions."

_...nevermind._

At least his question made some sense. But, nope.

Someone dropped a thick notebook in front of her. She blinked at it.

About fucking time!

She turned to her savior, and their eyes locked, emerald green meeting cloudy grey. They were cold, hard, emotionless, as if he'd been though a lot of shit in his life.

Kinda like hers, only he's were... sad. Very sad, as if something precious had been taken from him by force. The man was maybe in his mid-thirties, had black, long hair, and was wearing simple clothing.

"It's yours," his voice rasped, as if he hasn't been using his voice in a long time.

He turned around and silently left the pub, leaving a practically eleven-year-old girl gazing at her first gift ever received, and four adults feeling rather stupid.

* * *

**Oh. My. Gawd. It's done! Finally! Chapter 4! Sorry it took me so long, guys, but it's just, this chapter was crazy! I wrote half of it, then deleted a section, then re-added the section, then, thought, nah! And took half of that super deleted section out. Then some parts weren't satisfactory enough, and I ended up re-writing practically the whole damn thing. _Deep breath. _And _then _I was in a role, and I kept writing, 'cause I was having fun, and the result? 15 pages.**

**So, yeah. REVIEW PLEASE! And please don't just say, 'please update sooner,' or I might just have a nervous breakdown. Thanks. Oh, and the effing internet crashed! Must be the blizzard.**


	5. Ch 5 Bloody Effing Distractions

**Ch 5. Bloody Effing Distractions**

It was thick, full of white, lined paper, had that unique woodsy smell paper usually has, and it was the perfect, most useful size; pocket size. The smooth cover was a shade of dark grey and black. And shinny. It looked cheap (but shinny!) but for her it was one of those luxuries that she could never have. Unless she stole, but she used up that energy for the important stuff, like food. 'Cause food was important. And running. Definitely running. She was never given something without working hard for it, or got it through other means. She never got any gifts, either.

She really did not know what to think at the moment.

She felt... touched.

And skeptical. She was so used to this harsh world, she had learned to be suspicious about everything and everyone. But, well, she felt a bit excited, at having received something for the first time ever.

She took this new emotion, and looked it over, feeling it, and trying to comprehend it. She shouldn't... but then there was that damn curiosity of hers. She never really experienced this thing called kindness, except maybe once or twice from a fellow Elhot or two. And those were always 'I help you, you help me, lets form an alliance against a common enemy! I wanna fucking live to see dawn dammit!' sort of moments.

She felt pretty conflicted, amazed how a small act of kindness from a stranger could do this to her. Though she had this feeling that the stranger only did it because she so happened to remind him of someone he lost. The sadness in those eyes was of longing and nostalgia-

She put a stop on her train of thoughts right then and there. She was at the entering phase of her weird analyzing freakish ability.

She looked at her newly aquired possession.

_Man, this feels weird! _she thought. When was the last time she had something that she did not aquire via stealing...?

A sudden memory of an old lady with brownies floated to the forefront of her mind.

Ok, that totally did not count. She meant 'When was the last time she had something that she did not aquire via stealing, and did not end with her and a few others high on pot brownies.' Oh why didn't they notice that those harmless-looking old ladies were hippies disguised as church nuns? And why did she decide at the time, to consume them? Oh, yeah, the DeLaCroix twins grabbed a bunch, ate them, and after confirming that they were relatively unharmed, she helped herself to one.

And that was when the shit hit the fan.

It was too late by the time she noticed something was _very _wrong with their goofy, carefree, identical grins. Or, well, wrong-_er _than usual. And yes, she is quite aware that 'wronger' is not a real word.

So really, she had a decent excuse as to why she felt weird about taking free stuff, other than the fact that she was totally independent, and could take care of herself. At least that incident taught her to go with her gut instincts no matter what. And not to trust certain charities. She could name a few incidents involving charities, churches, and one certain very pissed off nun. Father John did not look pleased.

She heard someone moan not so far away from her. She turned to the one who moaned just in time to see a pretty weird scene; Curly Mustache was staring at the notebook – _her _notebook – incredulously, mumbling about what 'fucking retarded fools' they were. The guy with the scruffy beard had his head on the table, moaning pathetically about Russ-knows-what, and Crimson Punk was poking him not-so-gently with a crowbar.

_Seriously, where the _hell_ did he pull _that_ from!? Was that even there before?_

She shook her head, shooing those thoughts away. It was not the time. She eyed the crowbar, noticing for the first time that there was some darkish dried substance coating one end. Yep, these dudes had to pertain to some sort of gang or group. Not that she cared. She was quite used to knowing people that had their hands... dirtied, for lack of a better word.

Ooook, enough time had been wasted already. She opened the notebook to the first page, and wrote the following into it:

_**Ok dudes, no use beating around the metaphorical bush:**_

_**I am looking for some dude that goes by the name 'Puffin'Brain' that so happens to be a regular around here. Do any of you know who he is, and where I could find him?**_

She passed the note to Curly Mustache, who snapped out of his muttering phase. He read the note silently to himself, somehow easily deciphering her chicken scratch handwriting.

"It's been days since Puffin'Brain was 'round, hasn't he?"

Curly Mustache jumped up startled at the sudden voice coming closely from behind him; Crimson Punk had quitted poking the other guy with the crowbar, and was currently leaning in from behind Curly Mustache to get a better look at the paper she had given the latter. Curly Mustache glared at him, then went back to her note, a pensieve look on his face.

"True. Last time I saw him was about a week ago, smoking four cigars at once and spewing smoke from every single hole in his body. Looked like hell."

Scruffy joined the group, a bottle of beer in his hand. "Oh yeeeaah, he looked as if the Devil was pursuing him or somethin' like that," he said. For once, he seemed serious.

"_Please _tell me he payed off that debt to that other guy," Curly Mustache groaned.

Silence. Then they burst out laughing madly. Huh, it looked like this Puffin'Brain dude had debt and money problems. She cocked her head in a mixed expression of questioning and confusion. A gambler?

"Awww! You look so cute when you aren't just looking at me creepily stoic!" Scruffy cooed.

She scowled; they were starting to seriously annoy her.

"Cute~!" Scruffy then proceeded to inch closer, to which she glared. He was too occupied in his state of delirious euphoria that her glare went unnoticed. Rare surprise colored her face as he practically pounced on her, to which she quickly just simply raised her fist... and knocked himself out with it. With a very loud smack. Followed by a thud. She stayed frozen in that arm raised position, wondering _what the_ _fuck _just happened. She looked at the slumped figure on the ground.

_Oops. _

A snort. She turned to see a sniggering Crimson Punk, and an amused Curly Mustache. She blinked up at them, brain still having trouble processing the fact that a grown man had knocked himself out while running straight towards her raised arm. That so happened to be connected to a fist.

"You have no _idea,_" Crimson Punk snorted. "how often we see that happen."

She blinked. She peered at the unconscious man sprawled out on the dusty floor. He sported a rather impressive red mark on his face.

"Ah, don't worry," Curly Mustache drawled. "He gets hit in the face by girls all the time." He then grumbled something that sounded like 'fucken womanizer' under his breath.

She noticed that her arm was still raised, and probably looked rather stupid, so she awkwardly lowered it.

Curly Mustache sighed. "We should probably wake him up, before someone accidentally trips on him and ends up falling heads-first into the basement. Again."

Crimson Punk burst out laughing. His partner glared. The stoic child wondered what the heck that meant.

Curly Mustache sighed again, and turned back to her. "So, really, to answer that question, we have no fuck- erm, eh" here, she rolled her eyes as he caught himself in mid-swear word_ "no idea_ were Puffin'Brain is at the moment." He took a drag of his cigarette, and exhaled. "If he asks why the fu- ah, _the heck_ he feels shittier than he should be, I ain't covering."

Crimson Punk quitted his poking-with-crowbar session he was having with his friend's face for a moment, as if mulling over the risks and if it was worth it. He shrugged, and then much to her surprise, he stood up and put in a rather large gap between the two of them. "He is more than annoying in the mornings," the punky explained to the amused ten-year-old. He then shivered. Curly Mustache rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his never-ending cigarette. Scruffy gave a loud snore all the way from the ground.

She took back the note, and added another question.

**_Ever heard of an Albus __Percival Wulfric Brian__ Dumbledore?_**

Crimson Punk snorted, and Curly Mustache raised an elegant eyebrow at the ridiculously long name. Both men shook their heads no. After a moment of hesitation, she wrote something else down, something that had been nagging at her for a while now.

_**Where the fuck do you keep the sodding crowbar?**_

Curly Mustache's look of dismay after reading that was actually pretty hilarious. He either knew the answer, or maybe, perhaps, it was the swearing? Or both?

Crimson Punk smirked, and winked.

"Secret~!"

Hn. Bastard.

**OooOooOooOooOooOooO**

By the time the Three Musketeers and the bar owner, whose name she learned was Joe Higgins – who had been, indeed, a veteran soldier in the past – had finally let her escape from their clutches, the sun was already going to sleep behind the vivid horizon. Reds, oranges, and a tint of blue splattered the dusk sky like pastels, fluffy clouds lazily swung by, and a bird cawed at the slightly visible moon.

Hmmm... she liked that.

_The sun was already going to sleep behind the vivid horizon. Reds, oranges, and a tint of blue splattered the dusk sky like pastels, fluffy clouds lazily swung by... in the summery winds, and a... black bird cawed at the slightly visible moon._

She hastily took her new pocket-sized notebook out, and fished out that pen she stole from that dude in the park. She opened the notebook, and wrote just that. _Not every day that I can actually write down what my mind decides to randomly compose, _she mused happily. She closed the notebook and slid it inside her book-bag.

She stood just outside The Three Skulls, looking at the beautiful sunset appreciatively; it was these very small gifts from nature that mostly helped her get through the day. The thought on missing out on a sunset, or not being able to gaze at a starred sky, greatly saddened her. She knew that she was being sappy, but when one has had misfortune bump into them every step of the way in life, they, she, has learned to find beauty and hope to live in certain things.

A small summery breeze gently caressed her face, sending her long fringe floating behind her head, revealing the mostly hidden hardened emerald eyes. But now, as she gazed at the dimming sky with bright colors, her eyes softened and gained a more lively look.

She sighed, then started to walk; why did every time she even remotely got closer to finding information, something would happen to get in her way? This Puffin'Brain dude had seemingly dropped over the edge of the world, and not even Joe Higgins the Bar Owner – whom she suspected was the leader of not only the small pub – knew where the ficken he was.

It was very annoyingly frustrating. Specially since it was usually pretty easy for her to uncover information around these parts...

She sighed. How the hell do you hide a whole different community? Maybe they have spells or enchantments that make people forget? Maybe she was going at the problem the wrong way. She was so deep in thought, she did not notice that she had accidentally wandered into Gang Territory.

"Hey you!"

Maybe they were just too darn clever.

"Hey!"

She was a history buff, so she knew about the so called 'Witch-Hunts.'

"You! The girl with the face!"

Maybe they hid because those Witch Hunts were actually real? It made sense.

"Helloooo?"

But what if-

"Oi! Shorty!"

She threw a pebble in the general direction with deadly precision; she was quite satisfied to hear a distinctive "Ow!"

People tended to think that she hated being called 'girl' or 'girly.' They were wrong. She hated being called 'little' and 'short.' No one can call her short and get away relatively unharmed, or at least getting glared to death.

She turned to the one who dared call her short. She was quite surprised to find herself facing someone's big, fat, thigh. She slowly looked up; _Holy shit, this dude is freaking TALL!_

The man in front of her wore a stained white T-shirt and clear blue jeans, had cropped brown hair, a long nose, and his eyes were hidden in the shadows from how tall he was. He was maybe over a meter eighty-five. And was just _huge. _

The man growled.

She started to back up, because really, she was close enough that if the guy decided to just fall, she'd be crushed to death. Put some distance, and run like hell. The guy must've sensed what she was planning to do, because before she knew it, the guy had picked her up with his meaty hands by the back of her grey T-shirt, and was effortlessly holding her up so her eyes met his own glaring dark brown.

Her body weighted her down, but her T-shirt was so baggy and big, it did not strangle her; the short sleeves were actually the things keeping her from sliding down.

The man inched his face closer to hers; their noses were now almost touching.

She glared. _Put me down you b__l__ödmann! _(1)

"By the way ye dress and act," his gruff voice said "You homeless?"

She hesitated. She gave a curt nod, being careful as to not hit his nose. Then went back to glaring.

"You new?"

Glare.

"You from 'round here?"

Glare.

"You a Killred?"

Blink. Nope.

"You know what a Killred is." It was not a question.

Glare.

"Cat got yer tongue?"

She gave him the middle finger.

"Behave or I'll break it."

She crossed her arms and huffed.

"What business ye got 'ere." It was not a question, but an order. Simple and straight to the point. And told her to behave. And knows about Shadow London. She cut off the eye contact for the first time to try to get a better look at her surroundings, to guess which gang she inadvertently pissed off this time, but a hand forced her back into staring into those piercing dark brown eyes. What were the chances of stumbling into a leader of a Gang? With her luck? Very high.

"Answer me."

She shrugged.

"What are ye-"

"Danny Danny Danny!"

Both of them blinked, then looked down upon a much shorter figure who was tugging the hem of her captor's shirt.

"What Jake?" her captor's face scrunched up in confusion. Jake looked like a seven-year-old kid, he had straight, black messy hair, and wide, brown eyes. Her captor, whom she deduced had to be 'Danny,' sighed. "Jake, this the runt who hurt you?" Uh-oh. His tone turned threatening at this point.

Jake rolled his eyes. "It was only a pebble. No need to be so rude! I _did _call her short, after all."

Ah, so this was the trottel (2) who called her short. The gruff voice of her captor did not square with the childish, much more annoying, younger one from before.

The scruff of her shirt was suddenly released, she yelped and landed painfully on her arse with a loud thud. Ow. She looked up, and the following scene was actually pretty funny; Danny now had Jake in the same position she had been during the interrogation.

"Jakey Jake, you must treat others the way you want to be treated." Danny lectured. Instead of looking scared, the boy known as Jake raised his hand and said a very cheerful "Yeees!"

"Do not call other people names." Danny said flatly.

"I will not call people names." Jake repeated seriously.

"Do not call people short."

"I will not call short people short."

_Hey!_

Danny gave Jake a strict look.

"OK, I will not call people who wandered into our turf short."

She had been in the middle of inching away little by little when that sentence had been uttered, and once again, she found herself being dragged closer from behind and then picked up by the scruff of her shirt, like a badly misbehaved cat. Jake had been released, and now she was once again being held very high up from the ground as if she weighted less than a feather.

Danny got in her face again.

"What's yer business?"

She was about to do yet another very rude hand gesture, when Danny spoke once again.

"Wait a sec. I know you." He then held her away, to get a better picture. He looked at her, eyebrows furrowed in thought, as he scrutinized her. "Green eyes. Raven hair. Somewhat tanned. Black book-bag," she moved around, hanging in mid-air, trying to get him to _let go of her. _She did _not _like being identified. She tried to go undetected and unnoticed, but somehow, in some way, she had managed to build a reputation of her own. Without even _trying. _She tried to punch the guy, but her arms fell short. "An attitude," he continued "A very good aim, and well-versed in treating injuries."

She stopped moving. It was impossible. The guy had a firm grip on her. Damn.

...Aaand they were nose to nose again. She recoiled back, not having expected to have an overlarge sudden view of the man's glaring eyes up close once again.

"...We need yer help."

She blinked. _Huh? s_he thought stupidly.

"We need somethin' for a bad burn," he said flatly.

_Oh._

"It's _horrible_. It's red, and yucky, and stinks, and it's really really bad!" Jake said hyperactively. "It covers his _whole _arm!"

"You help?" Danny asked flatly again.

She nodded, and was let go, this time more gently than the last.

_What the fuck, Jake is taller than me! _The seven-year-old wasn't seven at all. He looked to be about thirteen. Incredible, what a different point of view could make you assume. She turned to Danny; it wasn't the time for sulking on the fact that this guy had called her short when he was older than her by many years. Jerk.

With her left hand, she made a rubbing motion with her finger. _What will you give me in return?_

"Danny won't pummel you to death for wandering into our territory!" Jake said cheerfully.

She raised an eyebrow; _Sure, whatever. _She made more rubbing motions.

Something was thrown at her feet. She looked down. A leather satchel. Cool.

She picked it up, and inspected it. It wasn't in very good conditions, but compared to her current book-bag... She looked down at her book-bag, then to the satchel. Yep, the satchel was in pristine conditions compared to the book-bag. And seemed more water resistant. And had more space.

She gave them the thumbs up.

Danny gave a curt nod. "Burns?"

She reached a hand inside her book-bag, looking through it... Hogwarts letter... Notebook... Stolen pen... Stolen pear... Stolen … calculator? An eraser... Two Flint rocks... A bottle of dried Rosemary... _A Guide to Medicinal Herbs; Pocketbook Edition_... A bobby pin... Another bobby pin... A copy of _Der Kleine Prinz_... A bottle of bee wax... Bobby pin number three... Eucalyptus... AHA! Gotcha.

She took out the honey, and a tube of (stolen) Aloe Vera. She put them on the ground. Then, she grabbed the new notebook and a pen, and wrote down:

_**First, cool down the burn with water to a comfortable level. Carefully dry the burn. Apply honey on the wound, and cover it with something, plastic wrap or bandages. Leave it there for about two days. After the two days, take it off, and re-clean the burn GENTLY. Apply Aloe Vera to tune down any inflammation. Continue this process until the burn has healed.**_

She ripped the page, folded it in half, and placed it between the honey and Aloe Vera. She put the notebook and pen back in her book-bag, grabbed her new satchel, and backed up as quickly as possible.

At a distance, she waited.

Danny and Jake approached the goods; Danny un-folded the paper, and Jake took the items. Danny gave a grunt of approval, just as Jake gave an incredulous "Honey? What the heck?"

They turned to the one they knew as Shots and that had many others, only to find that she was no longer there.

"Damn, she's fast."

Danny grunted in agreement. Then scolded Jake for swearing.

**OooOooOooOooOooOooO**

She briskly walked down the street without stopping, clutching her new satchel to her chest. For the first time in a very very very _very _long time, she felt giddy. A notebook and a satchel in the same day? This was turning out to be one good birthday. She didn't know what the word 'free' meant, and felt uncomfortable having that notebook around, but after the exchange with the satchel, she felt right again. Of course, she didn't deem the world worthy enough to see her happy. Her face was as apathetic as always. Why show it? No one cared, and like crying, smiling did nothing except give an Ilrrek a reason to mug you. It took skill to suppress the urge to skip happily. The thing called 'happiness' was practically foreign to her young mind.

She took a brake to change bags. She took every single one of her possessions, and put them safely inside her new leather satchel. She was a bit sad to see her old companion go, but nothing can live forever. The book-bag had outgrown its life years ago, and it was finally time to be replaced with one that still had yet to experience a knife-throwing ordeal, or being used as a weapon to knock out the occasional mugger. Living in the streets had taught her not to be wasteful, so at the first opportunity she got, she cut through her old book-bag, ripped the useful material up, and stored it in her satchel for future purposes. The material was perfect to use as bandages.

Now, for information... Where could she go? She did not feel like buddying it up with Hawk Vision. That was so not her style. The sewers... she wasn't that desperate. Yet. The prospect of finally getting an education, magical or not... It was a dream come true...

She abruptly stopped. Wait. She thought hard for a moment, going through everywhere she looked and everyone she 'talked' or blackmailed to find out any decent piece of information. Back alleys. The back of the back alleys. The hidden corners found in the back of the back alleys. She didn't check the subway, but that, along the bus, was where the police always liked to hang around, looking for criminals and hunting for homicide information... Oh, that's right!

_The Trading Centertown of London! Why didn't I think of that?_

Also known as The Market, or simply The Trade Spot. The Trading Centertown of London was a Shadow London hotspot, and pretty much one of the most popular zones for people like her to hang out and do business. As the name suggests, it was a place to trade objects and other goods for other objects, goods, services, food, and the list could go on and on. One could find _anything _there. The Market was a place of trade and gossip, the ideal spot for catching up on what was happening in the world, what's-his-name's latest stunt on the police, who got caught, new prices and goods on the market, who got murdered by whom, and pretty much everything.

The only reason she did not think of going to that area earlier was because of the simple fact that it was located very near the famed London Clock Tower; the Big Ben. Which had been swamped by policemen for the past few days due to one of the DeLaCroix twin's pranks or stunts. She did not know what exactly happened, but whatever it was, it caused the police enough trouble to keep them occupied in one specific area. Which meant no Officer Hugo hunting her down, or Detective Hudson to look out for.

Nice little bonus, in her opinion.

She turned her gaze to the sky; it was almost night time.

_Hmmm, I should probably go to The Trade Spot tomorrow morning. I'd rather see to whom I am communicating with. Less of a chance of getting ripped off. And possibly assaulted. Or murdered. Or raped. Probably all four things at once._

On that bright note, she decided that it was best to find somewhere to lay low for the night, a place close to Big Ben.

_The closer I am to Big Ben, the closer to normal people and tourists I will be, which means one thing; easy breakfast! _she thought, arms crossed and nodding to herself.

Suuuure, Big Ben and Scotland Yard were pretty close to each other, and maybe the location of the Market was a big risk to take, being thiefs and criminals and all, but hey, they liked the whole 'hidden right in front of your ugly faces' idea. And it made things much more interesting. Or maybe because it was a large tourist area, and it just sorta clicked. It made sense, at least to her it did. Somehow.

She liked living in the Big Ben Area. It was always crowded, sure, and she hated that, but it was way easier to blend undetected into the enormous crowd full of unsuspecting victims. She also liked (depending on her mood) how lively everything looked, the colors, the smells... it was the rich part of the city, after all. Also, Hyde Park was pretty darn close, which meant that she never did care how close she was to Police Headquarters in the past, or anytime in the future.

She liked to think about it as a small 'fuck you' against, well, everyone out there. Criminals stay away because of HQ's proximity to the park, and the police never look there because of that very same reason. It was the perfect spot for her to laze around, though those days were really rare and far between. Do you know how time-consuming finding food, protecting her own territory, keeping away from Gang Wars, dodging the freakin' police, maintaining shelter, keeping track of the calendar, surviving society, and moving around like a nomad actually was?

And that was on normal days.

It took time, patience, and one good head in order not to succumb to the crazyness of such a life. But she was used to it, and it really wasn't that bad... fun, even. Mostly crazy, if one took her oh so lovely Elhot and Shadow London neighbours into account. Shit-ass insane, mostly.

She stuck to the shadows and back alleys as she walked her way up towards the famous clock tower. By the time she got there, the sun had completely set, and the wonderful city of London was alight with thousands of tiny, blinding lights. Tons of bright lights reflected through the millions of windows from apartments and houses, lamps illuminating the streets, creating a bubble of twinkling flames and excitement over the city. The streets were still full of civilians; teenagers hanging out, husbands and wives driving home from a tiring day of work, fathers and mothers with shopping bags and children chatting happily as they make their way towards a family restaurant, men and women returning to their homes after taking their dogs out for a walk, and so on. Night had just descended over the city, which for some, mainly young adults, meant the start of dates, parties, night clubs, and fun.

Now, on most nights like this one, she usually made a sport of sneaking inside night clubs and parties in order to steal some free food and small snacks as everyone else partied it up. But those were rare, since it is just too suspicious for a child to be sneaking under the tables, surrounded by people in their late teens and early twenties. Specially a thin child with baggy clothes and unkempt, tangled wild hair.

She took an alley and put in a bit of distance between the lively city life and herself; so much people unnerved her. She walked a while longer, looking for a place to sleep. It got darker the further away she walked from the crowded streets and lights. She ended up using the street lights that gave a somewhat creepy orange glow for guidance. It was silent, except for the occasional bark of a dog, a cat bouncing from rooftop to rooftop, or a scurrying noise she knew to be rats running from one hiding place to another.

_Where to sleep where to sleep _her gaze swept all corners and small hiding places, even though it was somewhat difficult in the low lighting. Corner? Nope. Car? Death wish. Alley? Too in the open... Dumpster? She approached the dumpster, and with some difficulty, due to height and heavyness, managed to slid the heavy lid open. She pulled herself up to take a look inside.

One sniff made her pull back down and slide the lid back on with more strength than before.

She glared at the dumpster _THERE ARE NO EFFING PLACES TO SLEEP! _she then kicked the dumpster, which gave an echoing, reverating CLANG.

She turned her back against the puke-excrement-urine-diaper-chlorine-toilet-rottin g-ill-smelling dumpster and slid down on her butt, leaning against it. She gave a long-suffering sigh.

"-are you sure?"

She jumped, startled. _Whaaa-_

"Fool! Not that loud!" someone shout-whispered.

"OK, OK, we still have time, anyways. When is our client supposed to be here?" a different voice said, much more quietly.

She felt like groaning. _Will I ever get a fucking brake?_

"Anytime soon. Got the money?" the first voice whispered.

_Nope, apparently not, s_he deadpanned.

_Well _she though to herself. _At least this time they interrupted ME, and not the other way around. _she mused.

"Are you sure we are alone? I thought I heard something before..."

_Shit. Stupid dumpster._

"What! Why didn't you say something?" the first voice said much more loudly.

She stiffened. Now what? She was quite literally sandwitched between a metal wall, a wall, and two unknown men doing Russ-knows-what sort of business.

"Let's check the area out, just in case."

She flattened herself against the dumpster. If worse came to worse, she will have to take action. She could maybe just sprint by and pray that they were too surprised to do anything... but that's just stretching it too much. Or, if they came into view, she could always punch them in the nose, then run like hell.

"Do we have to? It was probably a stray."

_Yes! That's it!_

"Idiot!" the voice angrily said. "We need to check!"

_No! Listen to him! Listen to your dumb-ass companion!_

"But-"

"What is going on!?"

She jumped at the sound of a third voice. Even if she couldn't see, she could feel that the other two also jumped up startled at the non-whispered sentence.

"Ah! The man of the hour. Just the one we were waiting for." the first voice said. She almost comically visibly deflated out of pure relief. _Good riddance..._

"You better have those five thousand pounds," the new voice threatened. She felt her jaw drop. _Holy fucking shit! Five fucking thousand pounds!? _She wondered what exactly this man had that was worth that much.

"We do," she heard three tapping sounds; she could almost imagine the man tapping the suitcase full of money. "All five thousand. You have 'it' ?" She could almost feel the other man giving a curt nod. "Good." She heard some shuffling, and she felt more than heard as the suitcase changed ownership.

She was tired, and wanted to go to sleep. The exchange was done, and all that was left was for them to go back to where they came from. Of course, things never go as she wants them to go. They started to do small-talk, much to her sleepy dismay. _What kind of dealers do small-talk! That's dumb and un-professional!_

They talked for a while. A long while. Judging by the position of the moon and stars, it was close to three in the fucking morning. It wasn't her fault if she started to zone out of the conversation, even though she learned quite a lot of important information ("There will be another meeting next week around the same time. Be here at 1:00am.") Some interesting yet scary information ("My boss got ahold of the new bazooka model. It is quite impressive.") and _way _too much useless and embarrassing information ("-and then she was all 'Ooooh Ken ~ !).

Fortunately or unfortunately, she groggily caught a question made by the third voice, and was forced back down to Earth with an unpleasant thunk.

"What were you two bickering about, anyway?"

_Double shit._

"Oh, we thought that we heard something."

"What!? And you did not check it out? In this profession, you never know! You two are a bunch of idiots!"

_Don't go back don't go back ignore the dumpster ignore the fucking dumpster don't go ba-_

"It's not a big deal. It's not like there are any decent hiding places around here."

_Is my luck finally doing a 360?_

"Idiots! You. Never. Know. Take that dumpster, for example."

_...Nevermind. _

Footsteps. She heard the rhythmical tapping of polished shoes lightly connecting with the cement floor. And it was getting louder, closer. Oddly enough, she felt rather calm. She was a pro when it came to these impromptu situations.

There was a pause in the footsteps. She flattened herself against the dumpster once again. There was a click. Her heartbeat quickened. _Triple shit to the infinity _she cursed faintly. She knew that click. She would be able to place it anywhere.

Gun.

Not cool.

The footsteps resumed their nerve-wrecking tempo. Tap Tap Tap

She closed her eyes. Tap Tap Tap

Deep breath.

Tap Tap Tap

She got on her stomach as quickly and as quietly as possible, and forced her small body through the small gap under the great dumpster. It was small and cramped, but with her malnourished body and small frame, she was able to squash herself through with some force. Using her arms, and wiggling her body like a worm, she managed to successfully crawl underneath the dumpster. She positioned herself somewhere near the edge to get a better look at the situation, but deep inside enough in order not to get spotted. She made herself comfortable. Or as comfortable someone could be when being forcefully squished underneath a small space. She could feel the metal wall of the dumpster pressing her body and stomach to the ground. She tried to take a deep breath, but found it virtually impossible. She dragged her satchel up front, next to her. She then looked in front of her, through the gap... there were a pair of black, well polished, very expensive dress shoes, right in front of her face, so close, she could have licked them.

It frankly scared the crap out of her. So much for not being 'too on the edge.'

_Oh Russ, they stink like hell in a public toilet!_

The strong smell of polish was making her nose tickle. She hastily pinched her nose with her hand. _Move your stinkin' feet away from my face!_

The shoes stood there, not moving. She heard the man moving the heavy dumpster lid from above, probably to take a look inside.

_Have fun smelling that _she thought sadistically.

She was about to use her arms and wiggling power to half-drag half-crawl backwards and deeper back, when she caught something shiny and glinting in the orange street light glow. The man's pants had pushed up, showing off his mermaid tatooed ankle, and with it, a small, deadly, miniature gun.

She blinked.

Two seconds and one swipe later, she had a mini-gun tightly gripped in her hand. It had been tied to the man's ankle with a special holster, and for a seasoned thief like her, it had been easier than stealing a bottle of cold water out of a vending machine. She just had to reach out at 'thief speed' and grab it without the man noticing. At least now they were somewhat even. Three full-grown armed men with unknown amount of firepower, against an underweight, fast-as-freaking-hell, ten-year-old with a gun that so happens to have deadly aim and precision. She heard the man putting the lid back on.

The shoes paced around – and thankfully out of her face – and made their way right at the spot she had been hiding for Russ-knows how many fucking hours. She knew that she should be scared, but frankly, she's been taking this shit for _years_, and knew when she was somewhat perfectly safe. Or maybe she was just too tired and moody to care. Great hiding spot, advantage of a surprise attack and the shadows, the man doesn't know that he is missing a weapon, and it was too dark to even see that there was a gap underneath the dumpster. All she needed to get out of this one was constant vigilance, and she would be safe. For now, at least.

"Found anyone?" she heard someone say jokingly. She decided to dubb him Leader.

A sigh. "No. But you still need to check." She heard the guy with the smelly shoes say, as he withdrew his gun. She relaxed her body, that had been tense for action, a bit. But just a little bit.

"Why, you have yet to check underneath the dumpster!" the other voice teased.

Her eyes widened, and her body tensed up almost painfully. _No. Fucking. Way. Seriously?_

A snort. "It's impossible for an adult to hide under that. It's just not possible."

"Yeah, yeah. So 1:00am next week?" Leader asked.

"Yes," said Smelly Shoes. "And don't forget the new plans for that bomb. We'll need those for December."

_Bomb?_

"Gotcha. What's it for?"

She leaned forward.

"Can't tell you. Classified, you know? Boss would put a bunch of holes in me."

Something told her that this 'Boss' would do just that. She wondered briefly who this 'Boss' was. Maybe she heard of this guy. Common or an El Patrón?

"Our Boss ordered us to find out the location. We don't want to lose any more members, ya know?" said Leader. She could feel Smelly Shoes thinking about it.

"My group is planning to plant a bomb in Buckingham Palace at Christmas."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt herself go into shock. Oh, now she was awake. It felt rather unpleasant. Very, _very _unpleasant.

_If I'm caught, I'm dead. Very dead. Completely, and utterly screwed. Why, oh why!? I'm. Only. Ten. Fucking. Years. Old. Wonderful. Eavesdropping on a plan probably designed to kill the Queen. Wonderful. Just fan-bloody-tastic. I need a vacation._

They laughed. She shivered. She wasn't exactly a fan of the good old rich Queen Victoria the Second (3), but she didn't have anything against the elderly woman either. And she liked Buckingham Palace. It was a nice piece of architecture.

"And as a distraction, we'll plant one in advance inside a hospital."

She absentmindedly clutched the gun in her hands. She felt very sick by now. She hated hospitals. She really did. She hated the smell of disinfectant and lingering death, its white walls and pristine floors. She hated hospitals more than, than, well, it was up at the top of her list of 'Things I Totally Hate With A Passion.' These people sickened her. To target innocents and the injured like that... it totally bumped 'Hospitals' to second on The List.

She stayed under the dumpster frozen in, well, she didn't know exactly what. But as the three men – no, monsters – left, she felt herself deflate and go completely numb. That had been a close call. Very clo-

She sneezed.

The impact and force of her head hitting metal caused her to faint.

**(1) **_**B**__**l**__**ödmann**_** means Dumbass in German.**

**(2) **_**Trottel**_** means Jerk in German.**

**(3) I don't want to offend anyone, and I don't feel like 'manipulating' a real person. There is a Queen Victoria, yes, but there is no such thing as a Queen Victoria the Second. I think.**

**Summer Vacation YIPPEEE! Finally got the chapter done and over. Phew. Now, a lot of you people may be thinking 'Huh? WTF? What's the point to this thing? I WANT DIAGON ALLEY AND MAGICAL PINK UNICORNS! RAWR!' Well, don't worry dudes. I promise that Diagon Alley will be up by chapter 7. Chapter 5 was made to act as some sort of bridge between the normal and the wizard, and helps set future chapters. It also gives the readers more of an idea of Shot's personality, and how she deals with certain people and emotions. And like last chapter, to show that she is human. I don't like those Ficts where the main character is portrayed as some sort of God with superpowers, and is good, or super evil, or, or, you know. I want Shots to be as human as possible... She is almost 11 years old, after all. A very stubborn, apathetic, accident-prone, strong-willed, 11-year-old with an attitude who doesn't like authority, and prefers to flee before fighting.**

**Shots really has one hell of a luck, huh? XD**


End file.
